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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25954513">The Antichrist Project</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/CalamityCain/pseuds/CalamityCain'>CalamityCain</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Christian Bible, Jesus Christ Superstar - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Canon, Angels, Biblical Reinterpretation, Blood Magic, Character Death Fix, Demons, Developing Friendships, Fate &amp; Destiny, Heaven &amp; Hell, Hellhounds, M/M</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 08:07:38</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>78,551</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25954513</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/CalamityCain/pseuds/CalamityCain</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>PART 1: In which Simon is the child of the Devil, raised to be Jesus’ Adversary and destroyer. Except things don’t go according to plan.<br/>PART 2: God's foiled plans take on a threatening new form, including a cult who call themselves the New Kingdom.<br/>PART 3: Rebellions and betrayals shake the foundations of Heaven and Hell. We are gonna kill God or die trying</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Jesus Christ/Judas Iscariot</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>117</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>19</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Accidents Happen</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>a brainchild between myself and <b>Saffiaan</b> that I can no longer remember the origins of, but that stemmed from a love of our firestarting chaos-child Simon</p><p>Note: inaccuracies regarding (or loose adaptations of) angelology and Judeo-Christian myth are intentional. Except for Old Testament God, who is canonically a bit of a dick (yes, I said it).</p>
    </blockquote><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>"There is no fate but what we make"<br/>-Sarah Connor</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>~   P A R T   1  ~</strong>
</p><p> </p><p>Dying, as it turned out, had not been at all the glorious affair he had been led to believe. Not that the angels who had visited him since childhood were to blame. They were not flesh and blood, and did not know what suffering was save when they inhabited human bodies. They told him only what they had been told. They had fulfilled their demanding mission most effectively. As he had fulfilled his.</p><p>Now he stood in the shadow realm between earth and Heaven, about to meet the faceless Father who had groomed him from birth to be slaughtered as a sacrificial lamb. Perhaps, at the very least, his questions would be answered. And yet his heart was heavy as he moved forward to meet his maker.</p><p>It was then that a familiar shape barrelled right into him, pushing him back from the light and the beckoning voices. He untangled himself from the other’s limbs and blinked in surprise.</p><p>“Simon??”</p><p>“Hey.” The man who was one of his most faithful friends gave an odd wave, then attempted to grab his hand.</p><p>“What are you… Did you die?”</p><p>“No. Long story short, my dad has agreed to bring you back to life, and you still get the whole immortality deal, but without the…you know, God business. Oh and also I might have persuaded him to be your stepfather.”</p><p>“Your…dad?”</p><p>“Yeah. Satan.”</p><p>Jesus gaped at him. “Satan is your dad.”</p><p>“The one and only.”</p><p>“This is…a lot to take in.”</p><p>“I know. Look. Trust me, if you still want to do the Heaven gig after hearing our full proposal, you can. But if you want <em>any</em> kind of choice, you’ll have to come with me <em>now.”</em></p><p>“Because your dad – Satan – is in a hurry?”</p><p>“No, because once you pass through to Heaven proper – which could be any second now – you don’t get that choice. And I can’t come save you, because I’m…you know…Hell-spawned. If I step in there I’ll disintegrate. Well, probably. Never got around to trying.”</p><p>He stared hard at Simon as the information sank in. “You really <em>are</em> the son of the Devil.”</p><p>“Yes. I believe we’ve been through that.” Simon shifted his feet impatiently.</p><p>“The Adversary. The one the angels have been yelling at me about.”</p><p>“Do they actually yell? I imagined them being all, you know, ethereal. At least to humans.”</p><p>“They get a bit loud sometimes. I think they’re frustrated that they’re not allowed to be more forthright. Something about meddling in human affairs.”</p><p>“That’s fascinating. Anyway, is it a yes?” said Simon.</p><p>The light was growing stronger by the second. Soon those hands that had steered him towards his fate, that had taken his life before he could learn to live it, would reach out from the blinding glow and snatch him from his one remaining link to all he had loved and left behind.</p><p>“I don’t <em>know.</em> It’s a big decision. I need time – ”</p><p>“And you’ll <em>have</em> time! Didn’t you hear what I said? You’re allowed to change your mind. Nothing binding. But if you pass it up now, then it’s goodbye free will, hello playing lapdog to your Heavenly Father for all eternity.”</p><p>Uncertain though he was, it felt good to have his misgivings validated. “When you put it that way…”</p><p>“Have I<em> ever</em> lied to you?” Simon reached out to take his hand again, and this time he didn’t pull away.</p><p>“Don’t make me regret this.”</p><p>Simon’s grin was brighter than the sun, and outshone the growing radiance of Heaven’s door as he pulled Jesus from its grasp.</p><p> </p><p>~</p><p> </p><p>Approximately three decades ago, two babies were born into the world at precisely the same time, signalling the start of a war between Heaven and Hell. Both were intelligent, charismatic children to whom people were naturally drawn. One of them would remain blissfully unaware of his destiny until he came of age. The other was made aware of his purpose much earlier in life: to find the other, and kill him.</p><p>When Jesus was six years old, his biological father had perished from an aneurysm caused by a brain tumour he didn’t know he had. That was when the voices began.</p><p>They appeared at first in his head, given face and form only in vivid dreams that he would half-remember upon waking, although his recollections grew clearer as the years passed.</p><p>Initially passing them off as the imaginary friend phase so many children went through, his mother grew increasingly concerned before realising that the boy appeared undisturbed by his visions until she grilled him about them , at which point he became anxious and recalcitrant. He insisted that the visions were manifestations of angels: the messengers of God Himself.</p><p>Mary felt ambivalent about the concept of angels. But she was at least assured that such benign imaginings could do no harm. She herself had little room for God in her tidy, busy, practical life. After her loving but financially struggling husband left her with little in the way of savings, she decided that putting her skills to use was a better alternative to living on a prayer. She turned part of the modest house into a bakery and enlisted her son’s help wherever possible. By the age of eleven Jesus could knead dough like someone who had been doing it for decades. By the time he was fourteen, his flatbreads and challah drew customers who formed a queue all down the block.</p><p>Other children enjoyed his company immensely, when he wasn’t in one of his weird moods where he claimed to hear otherworldly voices. Those who were more curious than frightened ended up becoming his friends. But even these came and went with the passing of years. He accepted this as a fact of life. The angels were with him always. As he approached puberty, their friendly presence took on a new weight, their words of wisdom turning into portents of a vague yet important purpose he was destined to fulfil.</p><p>“What if my mother disapproves?” he asked. “Does she know?”</p><p>“<em>You will fulfil your role regardless,” </em>they whispered. “<em>Besides which, you do not truly belong to your mother.”</em></p><p>“Yes, I do. She’s all I have now.”</p><p>
  <em>“You belong to none save your Father in Heaven. Here on earth, you belong to all. You will be their king.”</em>
</p><p>“I don’t want to be king,” he had answered, more than once.</p><p>
  <em>“You have no choice. Your Father has decreed it so.”</em>
</p><p>And so he celebrated his thirteenth birthday with this pronouncement heavy on his mind even as he feigned outward cheer.</p><p>While this was happening, his intended arch-nemesis was plotting ways to bring about his demise. As a matter of fact, little Simon had been attempting murder since he was old enough to aim a weapon. (And there were very few things he could not turn into one.) But through the half-successful machinations of forces from both Sides, the two boys would keep narrowly missing each other, often by literal inches. In fact, unbeknownst to them until much later, their earliest encounter was in pre-school. Mary would never forget the day she went to pick up her son and was greeted by the sight of half the building up in flames. Her heart only resumed beating when she saw all the children safely evacuated and gathered in the playground, her son among them.</p><p>By all accounts the fire had been an accident. Simon had not yet learnt to control his powers; he was just five, after all.</p><p>Simon was also among the kids who regularly hung around Mary’s back door hoping there would be stale leftovers to be procured. His unique metabolism resulted in an appetite that would remain terrifyingly prodigious until he finally hit adulthood. And the chunks of crusty sourdough and day-old muffins that Jesus handed out were so irresistible that he put off his mission for a good few years until Uryalh, a demon who wore the guise of Simon’s doting mother when the appearance of normal parentage was required, finally pointed out that he was only making things harder for himself.</p><p>“But he’s given me so much free bread,” said Simon, who had somehow developed a sense of fairness his creator had not intended.</p><p>“When you and your Father rule the world, you will have all the bread you desire.”</p><p>“To be honest, I’m not clear on the whole ruling the world deal. How exactly are we doing that? I don’t see your lot overthrowing governments.”</p><p>“To govern people most effectively, you must govern their hearts. And <em>he</em> will win theirs if you do not move first.” Uryalh nudged him toward the house that always smelt of delicious baked goods. “You appear to have won his trust. Now do what you must.”</p><p>And Simon did. Or at least, he tried. He was not, after all, the only child being guided by otherworldly beings. For every assassination attempt, an angelic hand would intervene. From a knife narrowly missing Jesus’s head to a bus that was supposed to hit him swerving aside at the last minute, to various poisoned foods stopping just short of reaching the lips of the future saviour of humankind. This most subtle war played out between minions and messengers until both the future Christ and his Adversary reached the age of adulthood, and something most unexpected happened.</p><p>It began with a car crash.</p><p>On the same day Jesus would drive off with a second-hand car he had finally scraped together enough money to buy, Jrbral, Arch Messenger of Hell, would inform Simon of the opportunity that presented itself involving the conveniently common phenomena of automobile accidents. By now the Antichrist had mastered the delicate demonic art of manipulating machinery and moving bits just enough to cause everything from minor misfortunes to fatal calamities. It was a skill not unlike those possessed by the higher tiers of angels. The difference was that angels were allowed to employ such skills strictly for noble purposes, the definition of which was highly subjective. This meant most angels were more often busy debating the moral and ethical implications of a given scenario than actually doing anything.</p><p>It is also the reason technology seldom goes inexplicably right but ever so often goes inexplicably, terribly wrong. One example being the brief stock market crash Simon had inadvertently caused several years ago while testing out his ability to control large-scale computing systems.</p><p>The scene was set for the perfect tragedy. The bridge spanning the canal, usually packed with traffic at this hour, was sparsely dotted and stretched almost clear to the end. Even the weather was pleasantly crisp. In a matter of minutes, a faded yellow Fiat in seemingly faultless condition was scheduled to crash and flip over the barrier before falling in an almost graceful arc into the calm blue-green waters below.</p><p>The angelic being close on Jesus’ trail at the moment his brakes suddenly stopped working could not work a proper miracle on time. All they could do was give an almighty push that sent the car swerving sideways into the metal barrier instead of head-on into the tanker that would have killed the son of God.</p><p>Simon cursed as he watched the Fiat skid painfully to a halt from inside his own car, parked several metres away from the intended murder scene. “Well,” he sighed, feeling no joy in what lay ahead, “time to finish the job.” He pulled out the customised Swiss army knife he kept on his person at all times – not that he needed it; Simon was capable of killing someone with nothing more than a piece of string. But efficiency was the name of the game. He wanted it to be quick. Preferably without having to stare into the man’s eyes as he died.</p><p>As he approached, Jesus was stumbling from the wrecked vehicle, dazed but unharmed. The stunned look in his eyes quickly turned to one of despair as he beheld the car he had worked so hard to earn. The damage wasn’t just superficial; there was a trail of smoke emerging from beneath the bonnet.</p><p>He looked up just as his arch-foe was about to step forward and end his life. The naked distress on his face stopped Simon in his tracks. There was no way in Heaven or Hell he was shanking this hopelessly defenceless creature in cold blood.</p><p>“You <em>had</em> to make this hard for me, didn’t you?” he groaned.</p><p>Jesus frowned in confusion at this odd utterance. “Wh…what?”</p><p>“Uh, nothing.” Simon discreetly tucked away his weapon. <em>Congratulations for giving me a conscience I didn’t need, </em>he thinks, ignoring the fact that he had been growing one for years. “You need help? I have some experience with cars.”</p><p>Jesus ran a hand through his tousled hair, looking utterly miserable. “I don’t know if there’s much to be done. It’s a mess. The brakes just…gave way.” He blinked back tears. “I don’t think there’s a return policy on this thing, and I just spent most of my savings on – ”</p><p>“Hey…hey. It’s OK.” Simon found himself clasping the man’s shoulders in an attempt at comfort. “I mean, it will be. Let me see what I can do.”</p><p>“Thanks.” Jesus’ gaze drifted to the huge vehicle he had narrowly avoided slamming into, and started trembling as the full impact of what had just happened set in. He folded his arms to hide the shaking hands. The gesture only made him look more vulnerable and sharpened the twinge in Simon’s heart. H couldn’t help wondering why his father had bothered to give him one.</p><p>He retrieved the toolkit stashed in his own boot as part of the show, having no real need for it. Jesus stared in surprise as he lifted the dented bonnet to examine the engine. “How did you unlock that?”</p><p>“Huh? Oh, it was already open. Maybe it got knocked loose.” He pretended to tinker around with his tools while stealthily readjusting and manipulating bits of matter until the smoke disappeared with a faint series of metallic creaks. He wondered if he should fix the crumpled doors as well, but decided it might be a bit much for Jesus to handle at the moment. He did restore them just enough to close and lock properly.</p><p>“Try starting it up,” he said. Jesus turned the ignition key. The car sprung smoothly back to life. Tentatively, he slid forward a few feet and then pressed down on the brakes, which worked as if they were brand new.</p><p>“I don’t know how you did that,” he said, near breathless with gratitude as he clasped Simon’s hand. “I don’t have much cash at the moment – but – can I at least buy you lunch?”</p><p>“Don’t have much use for cash.” Simon grinned. “But I never say no to free food.”</p><p>The smile he received in return was almost payment enough. “Great. Do you have anything in mind?”</p><p>“There’s a place about eight, ten minutes’ drive from here that serves two-for-one fajitas on Fridays. And amazing margaritas.”</p><p>Uryalh materialised as an unseen presence to hiss in his ear: “What do you think you’re<em> doing?”</em></p><p>Simon ignored them all the way to the restaurant, and all the way through his fajitas. Uryalh finally gave up and dissipated after a long rant about Simon being an ungrateful child, among many other unsavoury things. Simon brushed off the insults. He was in a strangely buoyant mood, and his father’s minions had no power over him.</p><p>By the time they were on their third round of margaritas, he and Jesus had covered seemingly every topic two people who had just been acquainted could cover. From political systems to pizza toppings, they were as passionate in their arguments as their agreements in a way that was immensely enjoyable.</p><p>“I feel like I’ve seen you before.” Jesus blinked to clear his head of the pleasant haze settling into his bones. He was not used to day drinking.</p><p>“Well, if you must know, I was one of the kids who hung out around your back door when you were handing out free bread.”</p><p>“Oh! I think I know which one.” He laughed. “My mother would’ve cuffed me if she knew. We’re supposed to sell those at half-price, the ones that are still good anyway. It’s a good thing neither of us were great at bookkeeping or she’d have noticed something off.”</p><p>“Your half-stale rolls were better than any of the fresh ones in town.”</p><p>“Thanks. You always had such a hungry look, I thought you were one of the homeless kids. Except you were suspiciously well-groomed.”<br/>
<br/>
“And smelt suspiciously good, no doubt.”</p><p>“Actually, you smelt vaguely of gunpowder. Like a firecracker that’s just gone off.” He smiled at the recollection.</p><p>Simon wondered if now would be a good time to reveal his demonic nature. “You believe in angels, right?” he asked as a preface.</p><p>An odd, almost guilty look crossed his face. “How did you know?”</p><p>“Just asking.”</p><p>“I haven’t mentioned them since I was a kid. They used to worry my mother. Made other kids think I was odd. I mean, they weren't exactly wrong.” Jesus fiddled with the worn leather bracelets on his right wrist. “I still hear them, sometimes. I don’t see them as much as I used to.”</p><p>“What do they say?”</p><p>Jesus hesitated, and he added: “You don’t have to talk about it now. Maybe one of these days we’ll get properly drunk and…you know, say things we’ll regret the next day.”</p><p>“I wouldn’t mind that.” He smiled.</p><p>Simon had been curious about angelic beings for a long time: what they were made of, how they appeared to humans. He met them every so often in their human guises, but seldom in their true forms. His father had been an angel himself but refused to entertain too many questions regarding the matter. As for Simon himself, he had only one body: the one he had been given, the form of an ordinary and in fact shorter than average male. <em>The perfect height to punch your guts, break your kneecaps and give you head,</em> as he liked to boast.</p><p>“How do they look like? Angels.”</p><p>“Sometimes like people, but taller, and beautiful. Other times they’re kind of terrifying. Too many eyes.”</p><p>“Damn.”</p><p>“I got used to it after a while. But it’d help if they were more consistent with the number of eyes. And fingers.”</p><p>“Good thing demons are too unimaginative for that.”</p><p>“Come again?”</p><p>Before Simon could blow his own cover, they were interrupted by the waiter asking if they wanted more margaritas. “Uhm, I think we’ve had enough,” Jesus replied. “Could I have the bill, please?”</p><p>“You’ve already paid.”</p><p>Jesus frowned, thinking he’d heard wrong. “I’ve what?”</p><p>“I checked the register earlier. Your bill’s been settled.”</p><p>Jesus shot a glance at Simon, who just gave a bewildered shrug. “I guess you’ve paid,” he said.</p><p>“But I – ”</p><p>“Hey. Don’t look gift horses in the mouth, and all that.” Simon smiled innocuously as they walked towards the parking lot, with an unfamiliar yet comfortable warmth in his belly that had nothing to do with alcohol in the afternoon. He felt as if he had been missing a part of himself all his life. Unbeknownst to him, Jesus felt precisely the same way. Although at the time, he blamed it on the margaritas.</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Know Thy Enemy</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Simon says fuck the police. Satan probably agrees</p><p>In this house we call God out on His shit, deal with it</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Mary had known from the start that her son’s selfless nature tended to override his self-preservation instincts, and reminded him sharply and constantly to stop getting into trouble, for his old mom’s sake if not his own. It was a good thing Jesus had taken over the running of their small bakery occupying the corner of a crumbling but well-populated building. She was therefore not around to have a fit when three policemen turned up at the bakery door as her son was preparing to close up.</p><p>His eyes widened at their presence, then narrowed as they showed him screenshots of “seditious content” linked to his name. The said content referred to several reports of theft and money laundering by a prominent politician, and included damning evidence from document scans to witness testimonials.</p><p>Jesus argued that publishing the truth was not libel. “The law is the law. You’ll have to come with us,” was the stone-faced reply.</p><p>“Seems to me you’re arresting the wrong person,” he said softly but firmly. “They’re taking your money too. You do realise that.”</p><p>“Just doing our job,” said a broad-shouldered bully of a cop as he grabbed Jesus’ arm. “Should’ve stuck to doing yours, baker.”</p><p>“Is there a problem, gentlemen?” asked the person popping up abruptly behind him. The policemen turned to see a short young man with a wide yet steely smile.</p><p>“Simon.” Jesus’ rush of relief battled his reluctance to get his best friend involved. “I’ll be fine. Stay out of this.”</p><p>“I will if these clowns leave you alone.” Simon grabbed one of the few buns left on the shelf and took a bite, looking utterly unthreatened by the three men glaring down at him, their hands on their batons.</p><p>“Your friend is right,” said the smallest policeman. He had the greasy air of someone who wore a uniform in order to exercise the perks that came with the badge. “Unless you are also involved in the publication of slanderous articles.”</p><p>“It’s not slander. Just the truth – <em>aahh!</em>” Jesus yelped as the man holding his arm twisted it roughly behind his back. “That’s not cool, my friend,” Simon growled, his voice suddenly thunderous. No one saw his hand moving through the air until the blur of movement landed on the burly cop’s neck. There was a faint crack, and then the man toppled unconscious to the ground.</p><p>Jesus stumbled back in shock as Simon parried the blows of the other two cops without breaking a sweat and landed a hit to the back of their necks with impossible speed. They fell soundlessly on top of their colleague, collectively forming a dark blue heap in front of the bakery door.</p><p>“Shit. <em>Shit.</em>” Jesus seldom swore, but he felt the situation warranted it. “We just grievously assaulted the police. We’re in such trouble.”</p><p>“No, <em>I </em>assaulted the police and <em>I’m </em>in trouble. Except I won’t be.”</p><p>“They’re right in front of <em>my </em>door!”</p><p>“Hey, I saved your butt and you’re welcome.”</p><p>“I…I’m sorry. I’m grateful, I really am. But – ”</p><p>Simon waved a hand. “I was fucking with you. Don’t worry about it.”</p><p>“Don’t worry about it??”</p><p>“Listen, are you gonna help me move these bodies or what?”</p><p>“Bodies?” Jesus stared hard at the unmoving cops. “Simon, please tell me you didn’t <em>kill </em>them.”</p><p>“Will you stop panicking like that? You’re gonna pass out.” Simon crouched down to listen for breathing. “They’re alive.”</p><p>“Oh good.” Jesus glanced around, glad for the quiet of the nearby office blocks at this hour. “Uhm…so…where do we put them?”</p><p>They ended up hauling the three cops into the car they arrived in before Simon drove it until it was well out of sight of the shop. The man was surprisingly strong for his size; Jesus barely had to do much heavy lifting. He also repeatedly assured Jesus that neither of them would be in trouble from this incident. “Just trust me on this,” was all he would end with. Jesus was beginning to wonder if the guy he thought he knew had unsavoury connections he was better off not knowing about.</p><p>“How did you do that?” he asked when Simon reappeared at the door as he closed the place and locked up.</p><p>“Do what?”</p><p>“You know. Take out three men in four seconds.”</p><p>He shrugged. “Martial arts. Tons of practice. My dad was big on me being able to take care of myself.”</p><p>“Maybe you should teach me something.”</p><p>“Pfft. What for? You couldn’t punch someone if your life depended on it. That’s what your boyfriend is for, anyway.”</p><p>Jesus smiled. “Good thing he wasn’t here. Someone might actually have died.”</p><p>“You bet. Anyway…should we get supper? All that lifting made me hungry.”</p><p> </p><p>~</p><p> </p><p>“You have something to say, Jrbral.”</p><p>“Yes, my Lord. Uryalh and I regret to report that your son has formed an…unfortunate bond with the Saviour.”</p><p>Satan looked up from the scrying pool he used to detect disturbances among newly consigned souls. They were always the most troublesome ones. “What, did they get married?”</p><p>“No, my Lord. But they <em>have</em> become very close.” Jrbral frowned. “They’ve formed a kinship of sorts.”</p><p>“Well, naturally. Getting close to your enemies is the best way to take them down. The boy is using his head.”</p><p>“I’m afraid that’s not quite how things went, my Lord.”</p><p>“Then how<em> did</em> things go?”</p><p>“Well…”</p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>- A DAY AGO -</strong>
</p><p>Simon had been busy figuring out his next move (or rather, an array of plausible excuses for not meeting his performance goals) when Arch Messenger Jrbral appeared next to him with a gunpowder crackle and a sour expression.</p><p>“It’s been five years and a half,” were their first words.</p><p>“So?”</p><p>“So you had better have a good reason for why <em>he’s </em>still alive.” Jrbral fixed Simon with a questioning glare as they jabbed a finger at the attractive dark-haired man standing a few heads above the small crowd hanging on to his every word. Jrbral was disguised to blend in with them; or at least, they were trying. Despite having risen through the ranks, their imagination remained typical of most demons: that is to say, somewhat limited. Simon couldn’t help noticing that their pants looked like they had been made by someone who had only ever seen a picture of trousers.</p><p>“Was there ever a set deadline?”</p><p>“You must kill him before the authorities do. Once that happens, he becomes a martyr, and whole hordes will dedicate their lives to spreading the gospel of God in his name.”</p><p>Simon frowned. “Well, alright, but…”</p><p>“Is there a problem?”</p><p>“You <em>know</em> what the problem is.” The demon stared back impassively. “Have you not been paying attention? We’ve been best friends for years.”</p><p>“A handful of years is nothing in the grand scheme of things. Your purpose is to save the world from the mass hysteria of blind faith, which is what your father has been working against for millennia. Do not let him down.”</p><p>“Pretty sure Dad wouldn’t mind channelling some of that blind faith for himself.”</p><p>“It is not my place to make that judgment. Or yours.”</p><p>“It <em>should </em>have been your place to help me take him down ages ago.”</p><p>“Do you think we have not been trying? For the past years I have dedicated my existence to ensuring you were in the right place to strike. If there is anyone who’s ineffectual, it’s <em>you.”</em></p><p>Simon stared him down, which admittedly was challenging for someone of his height. Still, Jrbral was not so thick that they failed to get the message. The arch demon knew their place, and knew that the Devil’s own child – infuriating though the fact was – outranked them.</p><p>“Too bad I can’t turn back time,” Simon muttered, looking back at where Jesus still held his audience in thrall. “If I knew I’d end up on his side, I’d have stabbed him in the eye while we were still learning the alphabet.”</p><p>Jrbral bared their teeth. “Are you saying you agree with what he preaches?”</p><p>“Heck, no. I disagree with him every so often. I’d do it more, if his boyfriend didn’t already pick most of the fights I was intending to.” Simon nodded to the man with the piercing eyes constantly at Jesus’ side. “Then again, he fights with pretty much everyone.”</p><p>“If this boyfriend person is in the way, eliminate him.”</p><p>“Well, I didn’t mean <em>literal</em> fights. Although that happens too. He might have hit me in the face once. As friends do.” Admittedly, Simon had a rather loose definition of what constituted a friendly tussle. It came with the territory of being all but indestructible. When he was three years old he had broken another kid’s finger in one of the most vicious altercations to ever occur between two beings who were still potty training. That was when he learnt that human bones didn’t just snap back into place the way his did.</p><p>His permanently frazzled demon sitters had reported this and other incidents of note to Satan, who shrugged and said that the boy needed practice if he was to become a proper Adversary by the time he hit puberty.</p><p>“I suggest you use your advantageous position to its best effect. Only you have the power to defeat him.”</p><p>Simon glared back, knowing they were right. If Jrbral so much as spat in Jesus’ direction, it would come flying right back and hit them in the eye. The angels might be too caught up in bureaucracy and hierarchy to be as dangerous as they should. But they were nothing if not steadfast in their duty of saving the messiah for his designated death.</p><p>“Any other problem you wish to bring to attention, Antichrist?”</p><p>Simon turned to face them with a sudden look of despair. “Actually, yes. There is.”</p><p>“And what is it?”</p><p>“I’m sorry. I should have told you before.” He sighed. “I just…didn’t know how you’d take it.”</p><p>“Tell me.”</p><p>“Well, it’s kind of big. Huge, actually. A gigantic, absolutely stubborn….”</p><p>“Yes?”</p><p>“…stick up your ass.”</p><p>Simon disappeared before the Arch Messenger could respond. If he was going to be in trouble anyway, he might as well be a proper brat for it.</p><p> </p><p>~</p><p> </p><p>Satan faced his beloved son with a sigh that echoed through at least eight levels of Hell and made the temperature drop several degrees. (No one really knew how many levels there were; it changed on a day-to-day basis.)</p><p>“I was told the target you’ve been instructed to hit since you were in diapers is inexplicably still breathing.”</p><p>Simon shifted his feet. “You’re not <em>not</em> right.”</p><p>“Simon, what part of the Plan was unclear, exactly?”</p><p>“It’s just taking a little more time than expected. And God is being a bitch. Or his angels are. If you knew how many throwing knives I’ve lost…”</p><p>“Son, on one occasion you were seated less than two feet from him while eating fajitas – ”</p><p>“It’s pronounced <em>fa-hee-tas</em>.”</p><p>“–and now you’re practically his right hand man. I know <em>perfectly </em>well you are capable of committing murder with a damned toothpick. So please do not take me for a fool and go on about knives!”</p><p>A glaring contest stretched on between them until Simon broke the silence. “Listen, Dad. If you wanted me to do your dirty work, you could have made me more…you know…evil.”</p><p>Another sigh, this one with slightly less impact on the climate. “I can’t.”</p><p>“Why not?”</p><p>“Because I made you. I cannot give you what I don’t have.”</p><p>“Are you telling me the Lord of the Underworld isn’t even a little bit evil??”</p><p>“Watch your tone, boy.” But the gleaming eyes that looked down at him held amusement as well as exasperation. “I <em>wish </em>I was. It would make things easier.”</p><p>“That’s what most of the humans who ended up here thought too.”</p><p>“He’s got a point,” Uryalh murmured, before Satan’s glare made them shrink a few inches.</p><p>“I was hoping your ruthlessness and violent nature would be enough. That you would do what I couldn’t bring myself to.” He ceased his pacing and sank onto one of the massive chairs of basalt slabs made specifically to accommodate his twelve-foot-tall frame. “It seems that between myself and God, only one of us is capable of murdering innocents.”</p><p>“I heard about what he did in old Egypt. And the plagues.”</p><p>“Everyone remembers the plagues. A damned bureaucratic nightmare,” Uryalh muttered darkly, and this time Satan nodded in agreement. “The frogs were ours, you see,” the demon added for Simon’s benefit. “Part of a failed experiment– don’t ask. We couldn’t have chosen worse timing; it so happened to be the week following the rivers of blood.”</p><p>Simon frowned. “I feel a bit like one of those frogs right about now,” he said. “Just part of your experiments. A pawn in whatever game you and God are playing. If you wanted me to be nothing more than a tool, maybe you shouldn’t have given me free will.”</p><p>“What have I ever stood for if not free will?” Satan replied thunderously, the walls around him shivering. “What do you suppose got me banished from Heaven??”</p><p>“Being a difficult prick. Which is also what you made me.”</p><p>Satan rubbed his forehead with his stone-hard fingers. “Are you <em>trying </em>to make me regret having you?”</p><p>“I’m trying to beg you not to make me kill my dearest friend.”</p><p>“Really? I didn’t hear much begging.” The old amusement was creeping into his father’s voice again; he was proud of his son. He couldn’t help it.</p><p>“You should meet him,” said Simon. “Assess his threat level. Which, to be honest, is pretty non-existent.”</p><p>“His threat level will rise drastically after he is executed by the law. Which is precisely what we are trying to prevent.” But Simon could tell his suggestion has hit home.</p><p>“As it so happens,” he said, “I can tell you where to find him this Friday at about 5-ish o’clock.”</p><p>“Very well. It is about time I was acquainted with the great Saviour himself. Even if he is a mere pawn in God’s game.”</p><p>“More like a knight, probably,” said Simon.</p><p>“I’d say he’s more of a queen. Toppling him means you defeat God, the king. And then it’s checkmate.”</p><p>“Shut up, Uryalh.”</p><p>“You’re just mad because I keep beating you at chess.”</p><p>“I’m mad because I never got to shove a bishop up your – ”</p><p><em>“Quiet!</em> Both of you.”</p><p> </p><p>~</p><p> </p><p>The mass gathered all along the row of fading brick apartments had begun as a sparse smattering made mostly of elderly ladies and their grouchy husbands. But as the sun ceased its merciless glare, more and more people emerged to eventually form a wall of seething humanity united against the developers and their demolition crew. Even those who had heeded the eviction notices months ago had returned out of loyalty to their former home or to defend those still remaining from losing theirs.</p><p>The notices had been made public two years ago. The land was not theirs, and neither were the roofs over their heads. Most of them stayed because they could not afford to go elsewhere. Their anger was the desperate, downtrodden sort that knew its time was up. It was an anger of grim faces and clenched jaws of those who have nothing left to their name but dogged stubbornness.</p><p>Amidst this hubbub of activity, an old man wearing a tweed coat much too warm for the sultry weather wandered about at the fringe of the crowd. His eyes were fixed on the man with the megaphone and the dark eyes that burned with a radiance that marked him as God’s own even from afar. Satan had last seen him when he was an odd skinny child helping his mother bake bread for a living. And now here he was: all grown up, fine-looking with a spirit to match, the sun shining on his upturned face as a camera crew captured every second of his impassioned speech for the media channels to lap up greedily. He spoke directly to the cameras, knowing the ragged residents’ last hope lay in the gaze of the relentless lens and what attention it afforded them.</p><p>And then the men with shields and batons attacked. And everything crumbled into chaos.</p><p>The tweed-clad gent had been mere feet from the apparent instigator of the assemblage when pandemonium hit. Now his target was lost in the bedlam made of those who were fleeing and those who were seeking friends and family in the havoc, and those hitting back in defiance of the baton blows raining down upon them.</p><p>There was a metallic clattering sound by his feet. With preternatural grace no mortal man of eighty could have achieved, he dodged the silver canister spewing a cloud of white mist. He thought nothing of it at first until he saw the effect it had on those surrounding him: choking on the mist as soon as it hit them, crying out in panic, blinded and flailing mindlessly. The dense wall of bodies that had assembled all along the apartments under siege were scattering into a formless disintegrating mass. He was buffeted by human bodies left and right as he wove through them effortlessly, hoping nobody would notice how he was unaffected by the fog permeating the air that parted for him alone. The day would come for humanity to know of his presence. But now was hardly the time.</p><p>He saw the man he was looking for, on his knees and in danger of being trampled by the same crowd who had rallied around him mere seconds ago. Reaching out through the stampede, he grabbed the arm of the would-be saviour and half-carried him to safety, away from the chaos and the fog. The man collapsed against a wall, bent over, coughing painfully as his rescuer sat beside him. His exposed forearms were marked an angry red where close contact with a gas-spewing canister had burnt him. At least his face had mostly been spared, except for the soreness of his tearing eyes.</p><p>Like his son, and most higher angelic beings, Satan could manipulate matter and machinery at will. But human bodies were a different matter. The workings of flesh and bone and blood was beyond even him. He could do little for the suffering he witnessed save to offer a conjured bottle of water.</p><p>Jesus tried to thank him; his lips moved, but he was having difficulty forming words. Satan realised his chest was heaving and his breaths were laboured. Not knowing what else to do, Satan helped him wash the residue of the toxic substance off his face and exposed skin.</p><p>He had not thought himself capable of tenderness before. He wondered if he was getting too soft as he cradled Jesus’ head and shoulders to rinse the stinging chemical dust from the swollen shut eyes until they finally blinked open.</p><p>“Why doesn’t your God help you?” he asked gruffly. “Where are your angels?”</p><p>A pained look tightened Jesus’ face as he sat back up. “They’ve left me,” he said hoarsely when he was able to talk again.</p><p>“The angels have abandoned you?”</p><p>“My <em>Father</em> has abandoned me.” The words were full of bitterness, but also of sorrow, the confusion of a child betrayed by a parent. “He shows no mercy to those I try to help. Was I put on this earth to save them because <em>He</em> will not?” A fresh fit of coughing overtook him. By the time it was over, Satan had begun to understand why his son could not kill this man.</p><p>“You should ask him that. I’d like to know the answer myself.”</p><p>Jesus shook his head. “He speaks only through His messengers. And now they have deserted me.”</p><p>“All for the best, probably.” <em>Most of them are arrogant fools, anyway, </em>thought Satan. He placed a rather awkward hand on the still-trembling shoulder in mimicry of a comforting gesture.</p><p>“Perhaps I’m simply not worthy.”</p><p>“Or perhaps it’s a sign for you to give up this futile mission.” A small hope flickered within him. There was a chance yet that neither he nor his son would have to bloody their hands.</p><p>“No.” The swollen eyes blazed with new determination. “<em>He </em>may not need me, but there are people who do. If God will not show them compassion, then someone has to.” He looked to where the last of the protesters were stumbling from the apartment square. “It’s not over yet. They can’t start demolishing till next week. There’s still hope.”</p><p>“There isn’t, and you know it.”</p><p>“Then what is it all <em>for?” </em>His chest started heaving again, and Satan found himself worrying for this strange, tormented young man. “Why do they call me a king and a saviour if I can do so little?”</p><p>“You’re already doing what you are supposed to. What you know is right. Perhaps that in itself is enough.”</p><p>“I don’t know. Perhaps. I used to be so sure of things.”</p><p>“It’s good to be unsure sometimes. Those who are certain of everything are usually fools.”</p><p>He was quiet for a time, pondering the old man’s words. Then a thought suddenly struck him. “How did you know about the angels?”</p><p>Before Satan could answer, he was interrupted by a furious-looking man radiating worry and love from every pore of his body. “There you are. You bloody idiot!”</p><p>He helped Jesus to his feet; the latter stumbled gratefully into his arms. “Judas. I’m fine.”</p><p>“You look like shit. Can you not get into trouble with the law for ten minutes?”</p><p>Jesus kissed him on the cheek, and his face softened a little. “I had to. Those people will be homeless in days.”</p><p>“They’ll be homeless anyway. Nothing you can do anymore. Now, come on.”</p><p>As he was being led away, Jesus turned back and was puzzled to see the empty space where the old gentleman had just been sitting. “I never got to thank him,” he murmured, looking all around for his rescuer.</p><p>“Thank who?”</p><p>He shook his head as if to clear it. “Never mind.”</p><p>“Please tell me you’re not hallucinating.” Judas frowned in fierce concern.</p><p>Jesus managed a weary smile. “I’m not imagining <em>you,</em> am I?”</p><p>As Satan watched the two men retreat, Simon sidled up beside him and said: “You know, it would be nice to have him on <em>our </em>side. That would help turn the tables.”</p><p>“Going against the will of God is something I’ve been at my whole life, son. If it was that easy, we wouldn’t be here.”</p><p>“Yes, but…if you have God’s <em>own son</em> doing it…” Simon spread out his hands. “Would help our plans along. Much easier than starting from the ground up. You don’t exactly have the best of reputations.”</p><p>“Thank you for pointing out the obvious.” He started walking, his pace intense enough that it left indents on the road. Simon had to make an effort to keep up. With their combined force, they left an imprint in their wake, a shimmering haze in the air.</p><p>“I’m just saying. We could really use the sort of influence he has.”</p><p>“And how do you plan to persuade him?”</p><p>Simon told him. He listened to his son’s proposal with growing incredulousness, finally grinding to a halt as sparks flew from his heel. “You’re being ridiculous.”</p><p>“Look, just. Hear me out.”</p><p>“We are <em>not </em>adopting him!”</p><p>“But Dad – ”</p><p>“I said NO.” The sudden roar coming from the mild-mannered codger’s mouth would have terrified anyone who wasn’t Simon.</p><p>“Do you have any idea how lonely I get? Uryalh is terrible company.”</p><p>“Get a dog, like a normal kid. You can have one of the hounds.”</p><p>“Normal? What exactly about my very existence is <em>normal?”</em></p><p>Satan just sighed and continued walking, even more furiously this time.</p><p>“You know, I’d cause you far less grief if I had a sibling.”</p><p>“I know I’d cause myself far less grief if I’d never made you.” Shaking his head, Satan disappeared in a cloud of smoke that left the briefest impression of a twelve-foot-tall shadow in the air.</p><p>“Love you too, Dad!” Simon yelled at the disintegrating shadow.</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I added in the opening scene of this chapter at the last moment, because I felt the story lacked scenes demonstrating the friendship that developed after their first meeting. I had a ton of fun writing it. I hope you enjoyed reading it. (The story will have its fair share of angsty times as well; be warned. But all will be well, eventually.)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. The Interventionists</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Satan has some ice cream. An angel comes bearing news. God's next chess piece falls into place.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>Somewhere in the highest dimension of Heaven, one of the seraphim – the highest tier of angels, among whom only a select few knew the details of God’s Grand Plan – was deep in commune with God, as indicated by their bowed head and bended knee.</p><p>“My Lord. Would it not be more…effective for the messiah to be a willing participant in Your design?”</p><p>YOU ARE PROPOSING THAT MY SON BE AWARE OF HIS DEATH, AND EMBRACE IT.</p><p>“Yes, My Lord.”</p><p>I ACKNOWLEDGE YOUR CONTEMPLATION ON THE MATTER.</p><p>“Then you agree – ?”</p><p>HE MUST NOT KNOW.</p><p>“My Lord…?”</p><p>YOU MUST ELIMINATE ANY RISK THAT HE WILL BE OPPOSED TO THE IDEA.</p><p>“But Lord, surely he cannot go against Your will.”</p><p>HE IS HUMAN. AND HUMANS ARE FALLIBLE, GIVEN TO MOMENTS OF WEAKNESS. SHOULD HIS WILL TO LIVE ONLY GROW STRONGER, THE ODDS AGAINST US WILL RISE EVEN FURTHER.</p><p>“And what of the archangel, Lord? The one you have just sent to do your bidding.”</p><p>GABRIEL WILL DO AS THEY ARE TOLD. AND SO WILL YOU.</p><p>“Of course.”</p><p>THEY HAVE BEEN ONE OF MY SON’S CLOSEST GUARDIANS SINCE HIS BIRTH.</p><p>“And yet they know nothing of Your true intentions.”</p><p>THEY KNOW ENOUGH. THAT IS ALL THEY NEED TO KNOW.</p><p>“I will make sure of that.”</p><p>THE FATE OF THE SAVIOUR MUST BE SEALED BY ANY MEANS. SHOULD THINGS GO AWRY, I TRUST YOU WILL SEE THAT THEY FALL INTO PLACE AT THE END.</p><p>“I am your faithful soldier, Lord. As I have ever been.” Michael rose, bowed deeply, and prepared to do his Maker’s bidding.</p><p> </p><p>~</p><p> </p><p>Unbeknownst to Jesus, the same angels who had seemingly deserted him had been diverting their attention to his beloved. Gabriel, the same archangel who had first whispered into the child-messiah’s ears, had been appointed with the task of approaching the man closest to Jesus to deliver the message given unto them.</p><p>The first attempt did not go so well. Then again, few people react calmly to being interrupted by a divine entity while shopping for cushion covers.</p><p>Judas generally left the area of home furnishings to his other half. But Jesus had been in an impossible mood when he decided that their threadbare throw pillows constituted the last straw in an apparently difficult month. Judas knew by now when his boyfriend was about to slip into a week-long sulk at the slightest provocation. The downside of his steadfastly nonviolent nature was a tendency to swallow small resentments until they built up into a simmering mess that emerged in fits of pique or stormy silence and a slammed door. Rather than let his own capricious temper start a war, Judas volunteered for the noble quest of hunting down replacement slip covers. If nothing, it gave him a reason to escape the house for a good two hours.</p><p>He was about to text Jesus and get him to decide between maroon and olive-green, when someone whom he assumed to be a sales assistant handed him one of the store’s complimentary shopping bags.</p><p>“No thanks, I’m just getting cushion cov – <em>shit!</em>” His phone dropped to the floor with a loud clatter as he looked up.</p><p>“Be not afraid,” said the angel, rather belatedly.</p><p>“Which one of your fifty eyes am I not supposed to be afraid of??”</p><p>“Oh. I do apologize. I should have known to reduce them further.” The multitude of pupils and eyelids rapidly blinked out until there were only eight left. “Is this better?”</p><p>“It’s an…improvement.” Judas looked about to see if anyone else noticed the apparition before him, but the store was sparsely populated today, and the nearest customer was several aisles away. He picked up his phone and cursed to see the screen’s cracked upper corner.</p><p>“I have something of great importance to convey – ” Gabriel began.<br/>
<br/>
“Look what you did to my phone!”</p><p>“My apologies, but – ”</p><p>“Look, if you’re a ghost, bugger off,” he hissed. I’m not a medium or a psychic or…ghost whisperer. Go look for one of those.”</p><p>“I am not a ghost.”</p><p>“You sure as hell aren’t human.” He was backing away, but the angel persisted in closing the distance between them.</p><p>“I have a message from God. You cannot take this matter lightly.”</p><p>“Do I look like I’m being funny?” Judas felt a shelf poke into his back and kept edging along its length. “Anyway, I don’t believe in a God, even if my boyfriend does.”</p><p>“You should.” Gabriel’s face grew sombre. “He believes in you.”</p><p>Judas looked over the aisles again. “Can everyone else see you, by the way?”</p><p>“They see what they wish to.”</p><p>“What does that even me – ” He held up his hands. “You know what? I don’t care. Leave me alone.”</p><p>The angel reached out to take his hand. This was a mistake.  They were promptly whacked in the face with an offensively gaudy throw pillow. “I <em>said</em> bugger off!”</p><p>Judas fled the store without looking back, muttering beneath his breath that Jesus would have to live with worn cushion covers for a bit longer. His hands were jittery as he fumbled with his keys, sliding into the car with half-closed eyes, very slowly looking behind to make sure the entity was not there waiting like a horror movie cliché.</p><p>It took a long time for his pulse to return to normal. By the time two days had passed, he was even convinced his first supernatural encounter would also be his last.</p><p>He was wrong, as so many humans are about these things.</p><p>Gabriel’s second attempt was slightly more successful in that they were not subject to any assaults with household items. This time, they appeared in place of the cashier at the convenience store Judas regularly patronised about thrice a week, usually on the way back from work. He walked up to the counter and immediately jumped several feet back. “Fuck!”</p><p>“I have the right number of eyes this time, no?” Eight, to be precise. Gabriel had made a note of it.</p><p>“I’d really prefer just two, if you don’t mind.”</p><p>The angel acquiesced. “Now that my appearance is more to your liking, may we please talk?”</p><p>“If this is about getting me to quit, forget it. I still want my cigarettes.”</p><p>Gabriel stared for a second, then smiled. “Ah. The tobacco sticks. Yes. Will having them convince you to stay?”</p><p>“Possibly.” Judas pointed to the shelf behind Gabriel, who scanned the whole rack in fascination. “Centre row. To your right. The red one…no, the other red. Yes, that one. Heck, give me two. Pretty sure I’ll need it.”</p><p>The angel watched as he pried open the box of Dunhills, lit one up and took a long drag. “Alright, look. You say what you have to say, and leave me alone after that. Deal?”</p><p>“I accept your deal if you will accept my message.”</p><p>“Which is?”</p><p>Gabriel leaned forward. “Jesus’ life is in danger. And only you can save him.”</p><p>Judas blinked at them through a cloud of smoke, wide-eyed, silent for a good while. “What?” he finally said.</p><p> </p><p>~</p><p> </p><p>Despite being known to many colleagues as a fussy walking bundle of frayed nerves, Uryalh was a demon with ambition. In the time not spent babysitting the Antichrist (a job that not only left little room for recreation, but was largely responsible for the nerves), they were perpetually watching for opportunities that would let their keenness for detail shine. They were in the midst of collating intelligence on an epidemic scattered over Northeast Asia that might provide some interesting opportunities for seeding pockets of chaos when they received a red alert that sent their stress levels right through the roof.</p><p>Uryalh listened to the shrill voice telepathically spilling the urgent news. They groaned loudly as the wall nearest to them melted from its obnoxiously bright orange to a sickly shade known to some in the earthly realm as Zephyr Lime. (A small team of demons had been responsible for the introduction of pretentious paint names, the more obtuse the better. Satan’s main chamber was currently decorated in a shade called Onyx Desert.)</p><p>“Are you very sure?” More rapid-fire jabbering. “It’s that damned Gabriel, isn’t it?” A vehement sound of affirmation. “<em>Fuck </em>me.” There was an indignant squeak. “What? No, not literally, you nitwit.”</p><p>Sighing, Uryalh shelved their side project and sent a message to the crisis department. When a grand plan went “all tits up”, as some humans liked to say, it was time to call on the intervention experts.</p><p> </p><p>~</p><p> </p><p>“This is most fascinating,” Satan remarked through a mouthful of crispy batter and the warm sweetness in between.</p><p>“Told you so.” Simon bit into his own banana. “It’s tricky to get the coating right. I think it’s a combination of rice flour and something else.”</p><p>They were standing by an outdoor stall Simon had visited countless times for one of his all-time favourite snacks: deep-fried banana fritters. The weather was nice and cool today, a soft breeze stirring the air every so often. Simon had heard of parent-child ‘quality time’ as a concept, but this was the first time he had pulled it off. It was, surprisingly, not as overrated as he thought it would be. He wondered if he could persuade his father to get onto a theme park ride.</p><p>“What would you like to try next?” he asked, wiping greasy golden crumbs off his chin.</p><p>Satan adjusted his Panama hat. Today he was in the guise of a dapper dad, in a crisp sky-blue shirt and cream coloured chinos, with what looked like designer leather sandals encasing his feet. “Ice cream,” he decided. “It has been a century since I’ve had it.”</p><p>Simon grinned. “What you need is gelato.”</p><p>There was a short queue at the counter of the ice cream café; they could have made it disperse, of course, but Simon wanted those few minutes to table his proposition once more. He kept his voice to a whisper as if debating the merits of coconut versus double chocolate.</p><p>Satan saw where he was going within seconds and sighed. He allowed Simon to say his piece before replying. “It’s not half as easy as you think it is, son. Unless you’re intent on starting a war.”</p><p>“A war? You mean like, a disagreement between you and God?”</p><p>“No; a literal war. The kind with prolonged suffering and a frankly distasteful amount of deaths.”</p><p>“God doesn’t dick around, huh.”</p><p>“One wrong move and we’re back to plague-era Egypt.” The eyes in the handsome forty-something face flickered briefly with ancient weariness, burning with fires past.</p><p>“There has to be some less violent way about it.”</p><p>“Strange words coming from <em>you</em>, of all creatures.” Satan looked long and hard at him. “Is he really that important to you?”</p><p>“He’s the only real friend I’ve ever had.” It seemed too simple an answer. But Simon meant it as much as he had ever meant anything with the heart that had become both a blessing and a curse.</p><p>He could tell his father was softening to the idea. All that really stood in their way was the forces that had been working against them from day one. A fact that Satan did not hesitate to remind him of. “If you think marching up to Heaven’s door and demanding to adopt the would-be Christ is easy,” said his father, “feel free to attempt it in my stead.”</p><p>“Is that official permission?” Simon looked ready to give it a go there and then. Satan had to hold back a grin. The boy really was impossible.</p><p>“If this ‘gelato’ is as good as you say it is, there is a chance I might be persuaded.”</p><p>They were halfway through a double serving each – macadamia swirl for Satan, lime and mint for his son – when the scent of gunpowder pervaded the air. Simon looked up and made a sour face at the person now seated at their table. “What do you want?”</p><p>Afryal was one of the cleverer demons, quick on their feet and with a mind that could match some of Hell’s best lawyers. It was therefore unfortunate that their presence was often underappreciated. As Head of Crisis Management, their appearance unfailingly meant that something was on the verge of going very wrong.</p><p>“My Lord.” They bowed their head in terse greeting. “I regret to announce that God has decided to…accelerate things somewhat.”</p><p>“How?” Satan asked with a thunderous frown.</p><p>“Well, in short: the archangel Gabriel has been manipulating Jesus’ lover into betraying him, leading to his arrest and capture; and unless we can put a stop to the public execution, your plans are about to go to shit in, oh, forty-eight hours.”</p><p>Simon choked on a mouthful of zesty lime.<em> “What?”</em></p><p>“Have you not seen the news, Adversary? Or have you been busy with the pursuit of chilled dairy products?”</p><p>In a less pressing situation, Simon would have stabbed Afryal in the eye with his ice cream spoon. But the impulse passed the moment he pulled out his phone and saw the alert on his screen. It was a voice message from Jesus. “Shit.”</p><p>The message was painfully brief and uninformative. Most of it served to tell Simon not to contact him or send anything to this number from here on at the risk of endangering them both. <em>“You’re one of my best friends in the world. I refuse to… Just don’t do anything until you hear from me.”</em> After a pause, he added, in a slightly shaky voice: <em>“If you don’t…well, thanks for everything, alright? You’re like the brother I wish I’d had. Just thought you should know that.”</em></p><p>The message ended. Simon’s insides clenched painfully at those last lines. His phone screen went black; the silence stretched on. Satan, forced to admit he was at a loss, asked heavily: “What do we do now?”</p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>- EIGHT DAYS AGO -</strong>
</p><p>Gabriel was waiting for Judas in the parking lot, standing beside his car as he exited the music studio he owned and ran with a friend. It was their fourth meeting.</p><p>He sighed, weary from the sleeplessness of the past days. “Will you <em>please</em> leave me alone?”</p><p>“I cannot until you take my warning seriously.”</p><p>By now the angel had largely mastered the art of appearing as a normal human, although there was something vaguely off about their movements and the way their hair flowed without the presence of wind. Their eyes were the biggest giveaway: looking into them was like staring into the depths of universe, an eternity too wide for the human mind to comprehend. Judas loathed them for planting the seeds of worry that were spreading their roots within him despite his efforts of grasping at rationality.</p><p>“You know, our life was fine before you appeared,” he muttered.</p><p>“Was it?”</p><p>Judas glared fiercely, suddenly paranoid about the thought of the angel spying on their last argument. Jesus’ growing involvement with insurgents marked by the government as radicals has been a point of contention for some time. Increasingly, such fights ended with Judas threatening to leave him, which always pushed him into a tear-filled silence despite knowing the emptiness of such words.</p><p>“Listen, even if you’re right…I can’t. Alright? I can’t do it.”</p><p>“Then you doom him by your inaction.”</p><p>Judas ignored them as he got in and slammed the door close. He gave a start when Gabriel appeared in the passenger seat. “Can you not – ??”</p><p>“Time is running out.”</p><p>“Time <em>is</em> running out for you to leave before I stab you in the face.”</p><p>“You may cause me as much bodily harm as you wish. It makes no difference.”</p><p>“Of course not. I’d be stabbing a fucking ghost.”</p><p>“I am not a – ”</p><p>“I don’t care what you are! You’re telling me to betray the man I love!”</p><p>“I am asking you to<em> save</em> the man you love.” Slowly, Gabriel reached out to put a cool hand over his. “Allow me to show you what will happen in eight days’ time.”</p><p>Before he could tell the angel to bugger off again, his surroundings disintegrated. He was standing in a corridor with too-bright lights, hot and stifling despite the cold concrete walls. Jesus – <em>his </em>Jesus, marked with bruises – was being dragged to his feet by a tall, hard-faced man. His head was slumped in exhaustion, or in defeat. Silent cries spilled from Judas’ lips as he reached formless hands toward his beloved. A wall of fire pushed him back; he hurtled forward again, but it was like trying to run underwater.</p><p>Through a blur of voices, he heard a sharp metallic click. He screamed, knowing he could do nothing. There was a deafening bang. Jesus’ battered body recoiled from the gunshot. He fell to the floor like a doll with broken limbs, his beautiful eyes still open, wide and unseeing.</p><p>Judas was still screaming as he was slammed back into present reality. His heart was pounding, his hands ice-cold and trembling uncontrollably. “Why?” he managed to croak at last.</p><p>“I do not know. I am telling you everything I do,” comes the regretful answer. “There are those for whom a prison sentence will not suffice. Who will not stop until Jesus is dead.”</p><p>“I fucking <em>told</em> him. But would he listen??”</p><p>Gabriel’s fingers tightened around his. “You can prevent this,” they said softly, urgently. “<em>We</em> are not allowed to directly intervene – if I threw myself in front of that bullet, it would pass right through me.”</p><p>“Then let me take it,” he whispered after a few seconds. “Tell me how. Tell me where.”</p><p>“And leave him bereft of you? It would kill him as surely as a bullet would.”</p><p>“What am I supposed to do, then?” He turned and attempted to grab the angel; it was like touching a hologram until they solidified enough to let him take out his anger on them. They did not flinch as he tightened his grip on their shoulders, their hair. “Tell what to do. TELL ME!”</p><p>“I have told you already: turn him in.” They took hold of Judas’ wrists as gently as a parent with a disturbed child. “Let him be captured. Let him be safe.”</p><p>The angel’s words sank in despite his rejection of them. “You mean betray him.”</p><p>“I mean that you must use his trust in you to your advantage…and his.”</p><p>“How? If he found out, it would break his heart.”</p><p>“Then break it. Do it to save him.”</p><p>“And have him hate me for it?”</p><p>“It is the sacrifice you must make.” The eyes with the ever-shifting irises seemed to hold all the sorrows of the world. “That is the burden of true love.”</p><p>As if knowing he needed solace, the angel stayed with him all through the drive home. They assured him that they would not be parted forever. “I have word from God Himself that the saviour will be released within days,” they said. “It is but a show. All will soon be revealed. You must have faith.”</p><p>“Faith in a faceless God never did do much for me.”</p><p>“Then will you at least have faith that I am being true?” Gabriel’s voice was soft, sincere, almost pleading. Judas could hardly begrudge them.</p><p>The angel smiled sadly when he nodded, and disappeared in a pale cloud of mist.</p><p>When he opened the door to the smell of something warm and buttery, his heart ached so much it left him breathless. They had both parted in a sour mood this morning. He knew the baked goods were Jesus’ way of apologizing. (Neither of them were great with apologies, but they were learning.)</p><p>“Don’t touch them, they’re still hot,” Jesus said in lieu of a greeting as he laid a tray of perfect golden muffins on the counter, the cracks on the top oozing with the gleam of dark chocolate. Judas reached for him and kissed him fiercely in a desperate effort to assuage the pain of impending doom. Jesus melted into his arms, all remnants of stubbornness and pride dissolving away. When they started panting and parting for air, Judas moved his lips down to Jesus’ neck, pulling at the collar to trace the skin beneath with his mouth.</p><p>“I don’t remember my baking having this effect on you the last time,” Jesus said with a grin. “You haven’t even taken a bite.”</p><p>“I love you, you little shit,” Judas murmured, cradling his face.</p><p>“Not as much as I love you.”</p><p>“Prove it.”</p><p>Jesus slid a hand up his shirt. “I already proved it with your favourite muffins. Your turn.”</p><p>They made love that night with an intensity that left them shaken to the core. Judas grabbed Jesus’ wrists hard enough to bruise, pinning him to the bed and driving himself in deep with every thrust, wishing he could catch the cries from Jesus’ mouth with his own and keep them inside him forever. When he was done spilling his orgasm inside the other, he slid downward and took Jesus into his mouth and throat and savoured its familiar warmth and weight and the heat of its blissful release that he swallowed as if his life depended on it.</p><p>Jesus was breathless and sore by the time they were done. But he fell asleep with a small smile on his face. Judas stayed awake most of the night watching him, softly tracing the lines of his naked shoulder down to the dip of his back, and to the small tattoo nestled there – an intricate looping motif formed by ivy leaves – that matched the one on his own back. Despite their clashes over the years, even when bile had risen in his throat at being the giver or receiver of hurtful words, he had never once regretted the ink that bound them to each other. He had never been given to romantic notions before he had met this extraordinary man. How Jesus had changed him. The thought of losing him shook Judas to the core. The angel’s voice, melancholy with the burden of their urgent message, echoed over and over in his head.</p><p>By the time the sky outside lightened with the first grey wash of daybreak, he knew what he needed to do, and what lies would spare them both until the truth could make itself known.</p><p>Two nights from now – after he had done the unthinkable, feeling soiled by his actions – he would break the news to Jesus that he needed to flee, to leave the life he knew behind until the manhunt blew over. The hastily recorded message left for Simon would contain no clue as to his whereabouts. By the time it reached its recipient, Jesus was already on the inexorable path designed to end in his doom.</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>warning: things get a bit angsty after this. but there will be good endings, eventually.</p><p> </p><p>(I chose ivy leaves as a symbolism of fidelity, lasting love and indestructible bonds)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Checkmate</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>The unavoidable happens. But not in the way anyone intended.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>Simon’s blood ran cold in his veins as they leapt across miles to a mission destined to end in doom. “We have to stop them.”</p><p>“We have to kill him.”</p><p>We have to stop them killing him!”</p><p><em>“Exactly.”</em> Satan gripped his son by the shoulders, his mortal façade crumbling as his face grew terrible and beautiful and his eyes gleamed gold and abyss-black by turns. “Stop them. By killing him yourself.”</p><p>Simon pushed his father off with rare vehemence. “<em>You </em>do it, then.”</p><p><em>“I cannot directly oppose God. That is my curse!”</em> The pronouncement shook the fabric of matter itself, rippling the air with its rage.</p><p>The silence that hung over them was finally broken by his son. “So all that stuff about not being evil enough was bullshit?”</p><p>“It was –<em> is</em> – the truth. It is also true that you were made to do what I cannot.”</p><p>Afryal regarded them both with something close to sadness. “You can spare him from a more terrible fate, Simon,” they said. “What his executioners will do to him will be long and painful, a true martyr’s death. Give him the mercy his father did not.”</p><p>Simon blinked back tears. The burning sensation and warm wetness was new to him; he had not cried since he was a toddler. “Some Adversary I turned out to be.”</p><p>Satan beheld the son he never anticipated he would come to love, wishing he had the means to offer comfort, those gestures that came so easily to humans. Simon looked as if he wished the same. In his time on earth he had become endearingly human, exhibiting displays of affection at odds with the side of him that remained a ruthless killer. Satan remembered holding a cold-eyed babe in his hands, never guessing it would grow to be warm blooded as he himself could never be. The creature before him now reached out awkwardly before falling back down, an abortive attempt at a hug. “Well. I’m off to put things right, or die trying.”</p><p>“Don’t be silly,” replied Satan. “You are unkillable; I made you so.”</p><p>“Regret that now, don’t you?”</p><p>“Never for a second.” His father’s voice was full of pride, or something like it.</p><p>“I’m still not going to kill him, you know,” said Simon. His jaw was stubbornly set.</p><p>Satan put a hand on his shoulder. “Do what you know to be right.”</p><p>Simon squeezed the hand in thanks, and vanished.</p><p>He rematerialized outside an ugly grey building with small narrow windows. Closing his eyes, he could sense the fine vibrations and movements that alerted him of Jesus’ presence. The passing of years in pursuit of his target – now his closest friend – had sharpened his senses so that he could tell by now when the man was close by. The burning tingle of the fine hairs on his neck said that Jesus was in peril.</p><p>The hairs were never wrong. They had been fire-hot the day Jesus had been caught in a near fatal car crash thanks to his own machinations.</p><p>He got warmer and warmer, teleporting in between blocks until he knew he was at the right one, where he heard a woman’s desperate pleas echoing through the corridors . There was an edge in her voice that spoke of clear and present danger more than any demonic sixth sense could, and that spurred Simon on further. He didn’t realise how fast he was going until he slammed right into an invisible wall.</p><p>“Ouch,” he groaned as he hit the floor with enough force to cause injury to a lesser being. The air behind the unseen wall shimmered and parted to reveal a towering creature radiating golden light, one of their four arms wielding a flaming sword.</p><p>“Michael,” he greeted. “Still a butt-licking dipshit, I see.”</p><p>“Antichrist.” The seraph fixed glowing eyes upon him, and he went flying back into the nearest wall. Simon scrambled back to his feet and sent a chunk of brick gouged from the same wall into Michael’s face. The attack was narrowly but skilfully deflected before hitting him square in the chest. A flash of heavenly fire flew past his head, singing part of his hair. As Simon dove to the floor to avoid several more blasts, the woman whom he had heard earlier appeared, gaping at the fantastical vision of a large multi-limbed being blazing with light. She was small and wiry, with her son’s olive-tinged skin and dark hair. Her wide eyes finally went from the angel to the man sprawled on the floor. “You’re Jesus’ friend, aren’t you?”</p><p>He nodded. “Name’s Simon.” <em>I’ve nearly killed your son countless times, which makes my current position ironic,</em> he didn’t add.</p><p>“Are you here to save him?”</p><p>He got back up, realising his shoulder had dislocated, and winced as he snapped it back into place. “Gotta get to him first. Have you seen him?”</p><p>She shook her head. “I only know they’re sending him to his death.” She shook with barely controlled sobs, but the lines of her face were hard, determined. “I’m Mary, by the way – his mother.”</p><p>He nodded. “I’ve seen you before.”</p><p>Her tear-swollen eyes moved back to Michael. “You must be one of the angels my son used to speak of.” She clasped her hands. “Whatever you are, please help him.”</p><p>“Hate to break it to you, lady,” Simon grunted, “but that’s not what they’re here for.” He tore a steel bar off one of the window grilles and wielded it against the warring angel. As he pushed back with all his might, he heard Mary crying her son’s name. He turned to see Jesus in the distance being dragged by two men down the corridor, unclothed from the waist up and marked with bruises and lacerations. The bent head and slumped shoulders raised at the sound of his mother’s voice. He was saying something, calling back to her. He did not see the towering seraph; the latter had momentarily cloaked themself from being seen. And yet it did not stop them from shooting shards of hot metal at Simon. One of them took half his ear off. He cursed and railed at the frustration of not being able to teleport beyond the impenetrable wall Michael kept throwing between them.</p><p>The fiery sword was descending upon him; by a hair’s breadth it missed taking his head off. With the half-second in which the angel was caught off guard, he reached out to wrestle the hilt from Michael’s hand. The angel roared and tried to snatch it back. But Simon was smaller and faster. He swung the sword at the invisible barrier and heard a sound like the ripping of silk as the blade cut a searing line through the air. Another slash turned the fine line into a gap big enough for Simon to barrel through. Already the hilt was burning through his flesh – the demon part of his body reacting to the Heaven-forged steel. He kept transferring the sword from one hand to another, hissing with pain. But the pain was nothing right now. Already the blistered skin was mending itself.</p><p>Once he made it through, human-made barriers were nothing. His eyes met Mary’s a last time in an unspoken promise. <em>I’ll save him. Somehow. </em>The how of it still evaded him, but it was a promise nonetheless.</p><p>She clung to the bars, face wet with tears but with hope in her blazing eyes.</p><p>From around the corner, he heard the heartrending sound of Jesus calling for his mother, asking to see her, pleading for a goodbye. He knew exactly where the jailers were dragging their prisoner. He knew he had to get to Jesus before then. Before the wounded martyr appeared and met his death in front a thousand crying, adoring eyes. But as he was within grasping reach, Michael suddenly materialised and sent him reeling. He felt every inch of his exposed skin being scalded by the divine fire.</p><p>“Return my sword.”</p><p>“As you wish.” Simon sent the blade hurling right into Michael’s head. He missed; the sword struck their chest instead. The angel’s pained bellow shook the very walls. Both Jesus and the wardens – the latter two gaping in disbelief – stared at the unearthly sight of a blazing apparition thrice the height of a man, the beautiful face twisted in fury as they pulled out the blade.</p><p>“Simon.” Jesus looked from his friend to the angel. “Michael. It <em>is</em> you, isn’t it?” He had fallen to his knees when the wardens had let him go in their shock. He looked utterly drained, as if he had not been fed since his imprisonment, but his gaze was hopeful. “I knew my Father would save me.”</p><p>Michael stared back impassively. “No, Jesus. Your Father intends for you to die.”</p><p>He blinked, shook his head. “I don’t believe you – ”</p><p>“Believe in your destiny. You will die a king; your name will live forever. Jesus Christ, saviour of all humankind.”</p><p>“I am no king. I never was.”</p><p>“You cannot evade your destiny, child. Your lover himself delivered you here.”</p><p>“What…? Judas? No.”</p><p>“He betrayed you by his own hand, his own words. I was there. As was Gabriel.”</p><p>Jesus shook his head in growing despair. “He would never…” A sob escaped him. Angels were incapable of lies. Simon’s chest tightened at the sight of his dearest companion curled up on the hard floor, crying as the last of his strength left him. He wondered how Judas of all people had been persuaded to do whatever he had done. Then again, Simon could not find it in himself to begrudge the man. Each one of them – even Michael – were but game pieces set in place on a large chessboard by a merciless God.</p><p>One of the jail wardens started speaking, words tumbling out in a babble as he tried to absorb all that he had witnessed. Then the fiery sword descended. He and his colleague were beheaded two clean strokes. Jesus gasped as one of the rolling heads brushed his knee. “They have seen and heard too much,” said Michael. The bodies were set aflame, burning to ashes in seconds.</p><p>The seraph stepped forward and shrank and shifted in form until they resembled one of the dead men – or at least a facsimile of him: the face had a vaguely plastic quality, and the clothes looked somehow wrong in texture and movement. Michael, in their new guise, took Jesus’ arm and dragged him to his feet. “Do not stand in God’s way,” they said softly to Simon. “You will fail. You always will.”</p><p><em>You’re wrong.</em> In Simon’s hand, a new weapon was taking shape. One he had always disliked for its crudeness, its too-common use in inflicting everyday violence. There were countless ways to kill, and it was Simon’s personal belief that murder should be inventive or challenging, or preferably both. But he also knew there were times that called for brutal simplicity. And the time had come to do what he should have done a long time ago.</p><p>He allowed Michael to turn their radiant face from him, proud with righteous triumph, before pulling the trigger.</p><p>The curved bullet hit its target with pinpoint accuracy. The gunshot echoed loudly off the concrete walls as the seraph screamed with rage. Jesus died where he stood, falling to the ground with Simon’s bullet in his heart, just a stone’s throw from the gate leading to an execution that would never take place. It was a clean shot, with barely any blood spilt. Dark hair spread out the hard stone floor like a spill of ink. The eyes that were full of grief moments before stared at the high ceiling, peaceful in their blankness.</p><p> </p><p>~</p><p> </p><p>Judas’ bleary eyes wandered to the clock in his living room, unsure of how he had gotten home. Two hours ago, he had woken up outside the prison gates after a mindlessly desperate attempt to save the man he loved – or, failing that, to see him one last time, to apologize. Not that all the apologies in the world could make up for what he had done.</p><p>The guards had relayed news of a madman vaulting right over the gates and barrelling through the compound with all the ferocity of someone who had nothing to lose. It took three trained security staff and a rifle pointed at his head to slow him down. He had urged the bull-faced woman to go ahead and shoot him; she had smacked him with the butt of the gun instead, and ordered the rest to haul him away. They had granted him the small mercy of throwing him out, allowing him to choose his own end. A privilege his beloved had not been granted.</p><p>He ran a hand over his face, feeling the dried blood crusting his upper lip, clogging his left nostril. He didn’t need a mirror to know he looked like shit. The back of his head still throbbed faintly from the baton that had landed on him and turned the sky black. He had woken up past high noon to scorching heat and a world that no longer had Jesus in it. It was a world that had nothing left to give save constant reminders of sins that could not be washed away. Men who turned on their friends and lovers deserved no less.</p><p>Except he had not known, had he?</p><p><em>“You lied to me,”</em> he said to the silence. <em>“You </em>used<em> me.”</em></p><p>The numbness fell away, and in its place was rage and agony. “CAN YOU HEAR ME??” he roared as he envisioned tearing the angel limb from limb while cursing the God it served. A bitter laugh spilled from the depths of his throat and out his mouth with a strange twisted lilt. He had never been a believer before. Now he knew for certain there was a higher power, and it was cruel and ruthless and devoid of the love Jesus had believed in all his life.</p><p>Blind faith. <em>We have all been blind. </em>His laughs turned to dry sobs spilling into the rug, his face against the floor, the terrazzo cool against the angry red welt where he had been assaulted with a rifle butt.</p><p>He lifted the bottle lying on the floor next to him. There was about a quarter left. It had been near full when he had snatched it from his liquor cabinet. Occupying the kitchen, standing next to the oven, had brought back the sudden memory of freshly baked muffins. He had sunk to the floor then as a hoarse wailing sound ripped itself from his lungs.</p><p>A quarter of amber liquid. That was all he had left. It would be enough to numb him for another few hours. And he needed more than that. Much, much more.</p><p>He needed the nothingness to last forever.</p><p>The scene that Gabriel would visit some time later bore the marks of a slow, painful journey that they foresaw the end of even before getting there. The door left ajar that he had stumbled through and not cared to lock. The first bottle, broken on the floor next to an old rug where bits of glass and traces of dried blood were caught. The second bottle intact, drained to the last drop. A toppled side table and its fallen lamp he had bumped into while staggering to the bedroom. An open drawer with half its contents scattered on the floor by a man who would not be returning to clean them up. Here was where the blade had sliced into his skin; here was the short and final path he took, marked by the congealing dots of dark red leading to the adjoined bathroom, the streaks still vivid on the white sink. More blood on the tiles beneath the angel’s hovering feet.</p><p>They landed then, taking on substance until their body resembled flesh and bone in weight as much as appearance; wanting – needing – to feel gravity. To bear the weight of the crime they had unknowingly committed.</p><p>They wanted to cry. But to summon the illusion of tears would be a mockery of the men whose deaths they had so naively yet undeniably played a part in. They had had never known such sorrow, the need to unburden such heaviness. “Tell me how to make things right,” Gabriel whispered to no one. They knelt beside the body slumped against the wall, touching the wounds from which the crimson rivulets had flowed into pools around stiff, cold hands. <em>I drove you to this, </em>they kept thinking.<em> I broke your heart and made you break another. I helped guide a child to his death. Oh, God, what else would you have me do?</em></p><p>Gabriel cradled Judas’ head to their chest, wishing he could hear them, wishing they could wail and weep as humans did. “Forgive me.” Over and over again the words left their lips like a futile prayer that would never be answered. “Forgive me.”</p><p> </p><p>~</p><p> </p><p>Uryalh and Jrbral were with him all the way as he carried his friend’s body through Hell. Both were quiet, wordless, offering a strange but comforting sense of solidarity. Afryal, upon seeing them, dropped what they were doing to join them. The various demons he passed along the way stared at the small procession and broke into frantic whispers. <em>It’s over, then. It is done.</em></p><p>He appeared before his father, laying the body at his feet. Satan rose with an odd, stricken look on his face. “We won,” said Simon.</p><p>“Yes. We did.” There was no triumph in either of their voices.</p><p>Simon started shaking; none of the demons knew how to react, backing away awkwardly except for Uryalh, who had been at Simon’s side since he was a baby. “It is a gift, to be able to cry,” they said at the sight of his tears. “None of us can. Not even your father.”</p><p>“Why did you make me so?” Simon looked up at Satan, who only lowered his eyes in silence.</p><p>“I am sorry, son.”</p><p>“I am tired of being your pawn.” He wiped the tears away, only to have more take their place. “From now on, my life is my own.”</p><p>“Of course.” Satan turned away, wandering, pacing the length of his chamber. After a while, he said: “There is a chance…a small chance. To undo this.”</p><p>“What? How?”</p><p>“If you can retrieve his soul before he passes through…”</p><p>“Into Heaven? But surely it’s too late.”</p><p>“It might be. Or it might not.”</p><p>“But it’s worth a try.”</p><p>Satan looked down at his son. “We have barely seconds to waste. And you might not make it through.”</p><p>“I’ll risk it.”</p><p>Satan sighed. “I don’t know if I will. But – ” He squared his shoulders. “As you said, your life is your own now. I will help you.”</p><p>“Thank you, Dad.”</p><p>Satan shrank himself enough to stand by Simon’s side. “Whatever you do – and this is important – do not go through the light. If he has gone, it will not make a difference.”</p><p>Simon nodded. “Hurry. Before we miss him.”</p><p>Satan placed a hand on his back, parallel with his racing heart, and <em>pushed –</em></p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“Have I ever lied to you?” Simon reached for his hand.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Don’t make me regret this.”</em>
</p><p>Jesus felt the world go blinding white, then black and ice-cold to the point of numbing all feeling from whatever his incorporeal form was made of – a soul caught between states, snatched from the hands of his divine Father, who surely must be very upset by this sudden turn of affairs.</p><p>He materialised beside Simon inside a dim cavernous tunnel with high arches of smooth ever-shifting stone constantly changing in hue as well as form. As he gazed at it curiously, the substance transitioned from abyss-black to malachite green to a dark indigo with glints of prismatic soap-bubble rainbow. The place was cold and dim and not exactly welcoming, but it was also much prettier than he had expected.</p><p>Simon smiled at his fascination. “You’re lucky. Most newcomers go straight to the pits before being sorted to their various levels. You get the VIP entrance.”</p><p>“How many levels are there?”</p><p>“No one really knows. It changes from day to day.”</p><p>“Then how do you know where to sort…”</p><p>“Seriously? After all we’ve been through, you’re questioning Hell’s logistics?”</p><p>“I’m questioning my entire existence, actually.” Jesus looked at Simon as if seeing him for the first time. “You know, a lot of things make more sense now that I know you’re half-demon.”</p><p>“I know, right? I thought you’d figure something was off years ago, but you’ve always been a bit dim.”</p><p>He returned Jesus’ glare with a grin. “You’re cute when you sulk.” He threw his arms around the other in a near-suffocating hug. “Fuck, I’m glad to have caught you in time.”</p><p>Jesus felt a rush of warmth spread through him as he returned the hug. “I’m glad you did.”</p><p>“And I’m really sorry for shooting you. It was the only way.”</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“Come on, it’s time for you to meet my dad.”</p><p>“<em>You</em> were the one to – ?”</p><p>“I’ll explain everything eventually, okay? Promise.” Simon’s fingers encircled his wrist, and the amorphous tunnel disappeared around them as they went flying through the depths of Hell.</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. The Ones We Left Behind</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Jesus meets Simon's dad. Simon meets Jesus' mom. A tragic discovery is made.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p>
<p>The walls of Satan’s quarters shifted from stormy grey to a marbled white as Simon’s soul appeared with Jesus’ in tow. Jesus was startled to see his friend’s lifeless form on the floor until spirit reunited with flesh and the full Simon sat up as if nothing unusual had happened, stretching and getting to his feet as he gestured to the massive entity who could only be the ruler of Hell.</p>
<p>“Jesus, meet Dad. Dad, Jesus.”</p>
<p> “We’ve been introduced before,” Satan replied.</p>
<p>“Have we…? Oh.” Satan’s visage briefly shifted to show a glimpse of the old man Jesus had first met after the riot police attack and realisation dawned. “That’s how you knew of the angels.”</p>
<p>“Yes.”</p>
<p>Jesus was trying not to be rude, but he couldn’t help staring at the twelve-foot-tall figure seated on a chair that looked to be hewn from a massive rock. Satan himself looked like he was made of stone, with the vague air of an angel, but with a very different kind of grace that was somehow more weighted and human. He had the appearance of a lean well-built man of indeterminate age with a magnificent tumble of hair that shifted like sea waves with the light. The face that looked down at him was once beautiful, hardened by some ancient sorrow time had failed to soften, but not unpleasant to behold. “Does my appearance meet your expectations, boy? Or would you prefer something else?”</p>
<p>Jesus shook his head. “No. To both questions.” He hesitated before adding, “You don’t look like most of the popular depictions.”</p>
<p>“Is it the lack of horns? People always expect horns.”</p>
<p>“You look impressive enough without them.”</p>
<p>The dark gold eyes gleamed with something akin to warmth. “I like you. It’s a good thing God did not get to you first. Unless…” Satan held out a hand. “You wish to go back to your father.”</p>
<p>“I don’t know if I do.” Jesus frowned. “Did He really intend for me to die?”</p>
<p>“He did.”</p>
<p>“That git Michael didn’t lie.”</p>
<p>He turned to Simon. “And you knew all along?”</p>
<p>His friend nodded with an oddly guilty expression that matched those of the demons flanking him. “Why does everyone seem to be aware of this except me??”</p>
<p>“Listen, I would have told you sooner, but there never seemed to be a good time to go ‘Oh by the way, I’m the spawn of Satan and I was supposed to destroy you but we’re friends now, so…’ ”</p>
<p>“You were supposed to destroy me??”</p>
<p>Satan sighed. “That announcement would have been better reserved for another time.”</p>
<p>“Sorry. Too late now.” Simon laid a hand on Jesus’ shoulder, only for it to pass through. “Shit. What the…”</p>
<p>Jesus looked down to see his fingers starting to lose their form, crumbling into thin air.</p>
<p>“Dad, he’s…disintegrating.”</p>
<p>“Hmm. That is most rare.” Souls were corporeal within the realm of Hell; they only became ghosts on Earth. And even then it was not typical for them to start dissolving like that.</p>
<p>“It could be the information overload,” Jrbral said. “I’ve seen it happen before. Without a brain made of matter, spirit forms can only handle so much at one time.”</p>
<p>Simon snorted. “Are you calling him a nitwit?”</p>
<p>“He<em> has</em> had to process a lot in the past few minutes. He just found out you are the child of Satan, that his father was out to get him publicly executed, that everyone knew about this except him…”</p>
<p>Afryal narrowed their eyes. “And you haven’t even told him about your adoption plans yet.”</p>
<p>“Adoption?” Jesus disintegrated a little further.</p>
<p>“I think he should get back into his body,” said Uryalh.</p>
<p>“Where did you put it?” Simon asked, prodding them.</p>
<p>“I’m not in charge of bodies!”</p>
<p>Afryal stepped forward. “I’m in charge of this one,” they said dryly. To Jesus, they added: “I helped Simon keep your mortal shell safe. Although perhaps ‘mortal’ is a dubious description.”</p>
<p>“What does that mean?”</p>
<p>“Well, I believe Simon persuaded one of our engineers to…fix it up a little. So that it may last your immortal soul for an indefinite period.”</p>
<p>Simon waved a hand. “No time for explanations, Afryal, take us to it.”</p>
<p>They reappeared in a small circular chamber where a battered-looking dead man lay on a raised slab. There was a distinct mark where Simon’s bullet had hit him in the chest. “I thought you said it had been fixed,” said Jesus. It felt incredibly strange to be staring at his own body. He had always thought himself to be taller than that.</p>
<p>“Oh. Well. See, we don’t have the ability to heal fleshly bodies,” Simon replied. “We <em>can</em> augment them a bit though. Complex manipulation of matter – I’m at beginner’s level compared to some of the demons who worked on you. Once you get in there, you’ll start healing rapidly. Within minutes, really.”</p>
<p>“If you say so.” Jesus looked to Afryal, who seemed like a smart reliable type. The demon nodded in confirmation. “You should hurry,” they added. “One of your arms is almost gone.”</p>
<p>“How do I, uh, get in there?”</p>
<p>“Like this.” Satan materialised beside him, and gave him a shove that felt like someone was sending shockwaves through his entire being. His surroundings dissolved into a dizzying blur as shapes and sounds became formless. There was a sensation of falling endlessly –</p>
<p>– and then everything hurt, all at once.</p>
<p>With a groan, he opened his eyes to see Simon peering down at him nervously, Satan towering above like a statuesque granite giant. “How do you feel?” asked his wayward friend.</p>
<p>“Like shit.”</p>
<p>“Ah, well. That’s to be expected.”</p>
<p>“Can you move your limbs?” asked the ever-practical Afryal.</p>
<p>He could move his arms and legs without much effort, but he felt drained, just barely alive. Simon lifted him into a sitting position. “You’ll be fine. You just need a sandwich. Or several.”</p>
<p>“I need some clothes first.”</p>
<p>“Right.” Simon stared at him for a few seconds with an intensity that was most discomfiting until Jesus realised what he was doing and felt threads and particles weaving themselves at a dizzying speed around his body until he was dressed in one of his favourite shirts and faded black jeans.</p>
<p>“Am I missing anything? Oh, wait.” Simon blew on his wrist and the leather bracelets he habitually wore appeared.</p>
<p>“That’s a useful ability. Conjuring clothing.”</p>
<p>“Isn’t it, though?” Simon grinned and grabbed his arm.</p>
<p>
  <em>“Wait – ”</em>
</p>
<p>They were zipping through Hell and the fabric of matter itself at a way the human body was utterly unused to, as evidenced by the strong urge to throw up as soon as they re-emerged on Earth in bright daylight. Jesus fell to his knees and retched, glad for the emptiness of his stomach.</p>
<p>“Uhm. Sorry about that,” said Simon sheepishly, bending to rub his back.</p>
<p>“Could we go slower next time?” Jesus dry-heaved one last time and staggered to his knees just as a middle-aged couple passed them by. “Lay off the day drinking, son,” the man said.</p>
<p>Simon told him impudently to mind his own business as Jesus looked at the sign on the small restaurant. “This is the place where we first – where we had lunch, after – ”</p>
<p>“After I tried to kill you and then repaired your car and you bought me lunch and I decided you shouldn’t have to pay for the mess I caused? Yeah.”</p>
<p>Jesus swayed a little on the spot, and Simon put an arm around him. “I think we should get some quesadillas inside you.”</p>
<p>Midway through a hearty stack of cheese-stuffed tortillas, Jesus finally asked: “So you were the one who killed my brakes?”</p>
<p>“Should I apologize for that? I totally apologize for that.” Simon put his palms together in a pleading gesture. “In my defence, I was trying not to completely fail at my job. I’d been trying to off you since we were kids. Except I started feeling bad about it. That car crash was my last attempt, I promise.”</p>
<p>Jesus remained silent as he made his way through another quesadilla. “I’m happy that we met,” he said finally. “I don’t regret any of it.”</p>
<p>“Life’s too short for regrets, I guess.”</p>
<p>“Aren’t you basically immortal?”</p>
<p>“Yeah, but I prefer to live like I’m not. It’s more fun that way.” He shoved the last of his burrito into his mouth. “So. Margaritas?”</p>
<p>“I wouldn’t mind, but I think I should go visit my mother.” Anxiety took over his face as he remembered their last desperate meeting, trying in vain to reach each other as he was dragged from her grasping hands. “I should have gone sooner.”</p>
<p>“And keel over right at her doorstep? Luckily I was around to feed you first.” Simon wiped his mouth. “Alright then; let’s go see your mom.”</p>
<p>Jesus was about to call for the bill when Simon batted his hand away. “Don’t worry. It’s settled.”</p>
<p>He frowned. “We really shouldn’t cheat small businesses like that.”</p>
<p>“Oh? Have<em> you</em> got any money?”</p>
<p>“…No.”</p>
<p>“Well, then.”</p>
<p>Jesus remained seated and folded his arms until Simon sighed. “Fine.” He squinted until a roll of bills appeared in his hand and waved it under Jesus’ nose. “This should be enough, right? Haven’t had to exchange money for goods and services in a while.”</p>
<p>The small house that used to sell freshly baked loaves and biscuits from the front window had not changed much aside from a fresh coat of paint and a new awning. Jesus was glad Simon had remembered to take it easy on the teleportation, seeing as this time he actually had something to throw up.</p>
<p>He hesitated before ringing the doorbell, unsure of how Mary would react to seeing him. He needn’t have worried. She opened the door, let out a short scream, then rushed forward to wrap her arms tightly around him. She was shockingly strong for a small woman.</p>
<p>“I didn’t hear any news. I thought you were dead!”</p>
<p>“I was, for a while.”</p>
<p>“W-what do you mean?”</p>
<p>“Uhm. It’s a long story.”</p>
<p>Her eyes shone with tears. “Well, you’re going to come right in tell me that story or I will smack the living daylights back out of you.”</p>
<p>It was only then that she noticed Simon as he announced his presence with a small wave. “I can explain everything,” he said. “If you promise not to take my head off.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>~</p>
<p> </p>
<p>As Mary put on coffee for her son and his friend with only slightly trembling hands, Afryal was busy doing what they did best: turning a crisis on its head. By a little past three o’clock, press kits had been anonymously delivered to every major media outlet detailing the pardoning and release of a prominent left-wing insurgent. By the next day, those who revered him as a spiritual leader would gather in the streets chanting his name and celebrating their liberation with his. Afryal’s minions would also meet with the chief authorities to convince them – without too much effort – that they were better off keeping their mouths shut and play along, or risk looking like fools for somehow letting such a wanted man slip through their fingers so soon after catching him.</p>
<p>For the moment, Jesus and his mother would remain blissfully unaware of all this ado over his emancipation. Mary kept reaching out to grasp her son’s hand every so often as if reassuring herself he was real; that he would not disappear after granting her this brief reunion. “I should have known better than to trust those angels,” she said vehemently over a third cup of thick, sweet coffee. Simon devoured another of her famous clove biscuits, making sounds of delight at the faintly gingery flavour.</p>
<p>“They’re not really to blame,” Jesus replied (“except Michael and their merry band of butt kissers,” Simon interjected through a mouthful of crumbs). “They are bound to obey God.”</p>
<p>“And that’s another thing.” Mary gripped the table edge fiercely. “I mean to have a <em>word </em>with God. I <em>dare</em> him to come right into this kitchen and face me!”</p>
<p>“Not gonna happen,” said Simon. “My nuts just shrank from the look on your face, and God’s definitely a bigger coward than me.”</p>
<p>Jesus smiled. “I wish He <em>were </em>here so I could watch you say that to His face. If He has one.”</p>
<p>“You’ve never seen him…like, in human form? Not even in your dreams?”</p>
<p>“I’ve heard Him a handful of times. When I was about seven or eight. But no – He never visited, exactly.”</p>
<p>“Pfft. Some father he is.” Simon drained the dregs of his cup. “This is really good stuff. The biscuits, too. I’m glad you didn’t try to kill me so I could enjoy them fully."</p>
<p>“You can’t actually kill him,” Jesus added. “But beheading would be a terrible inconvenience.”</p>
<p>“Takes months to properly grow a new one.”</p>
<p>“My son <em>did</em> say you acted in his best interests. Without you he wouldn’t be sitting here.” Her hand twitched, wanting yet again to feel her only child in her grip. She never wanted to let him go. And yet she could not, and would not, stop him from leaving. Despite his evident happiness, the burden weighing on his heart was growing heavier with each passing minute. His mother was looking at him knowingly. She could tell when he was troubled; he could not hide it any more than he could a giant wart on his face.</p>
<p>“How much time has passed since I died?” he asked Simon abruptly.</p>
<p>“Just over a week. Time passes a bit differently in Hell.”</p>
<p>Mary frowned. “What is it, dear?”</p>
<p>“I…I have to go home.”</p>
<p>“This is your home too, you know. It always has been.”</p>
<p>“He means he should be getting back to his boyfriend,” Simon supplemented to fill the silence left by Jesus, who looked like he was trying not to cry. It was very hard not to, with his mother’s arm around him, his head on her shoulder.</p>
<p>“Listen,” Simon said at last. “Whatever he did to…to turn you in…he surely did because he was persuaded to. If I know how God’s angels work, they’d have been acting under instructions to – ”</p>
<p>“I guess it doesn’t really matter. I don’t know. I’m not mad at him.” Jesus blinked his reddened eyes. “I don’t know <em>what </em>to feel.”</p>
<p>“Go to him, then.” Mary rubbed his back, stroked his hair, the way she had done when he was a child. “Just make sure you come back soon.”</p>
<p>“I will.” He kissed her hand.</p>
<p>“Take care of him,” she told Simon. He nodded. In a strange way, he felt like more of a guardian angel to his friend than any of God’s emissaries.</p>
<p>As they left the small, neat house behind, Simon felt the tiny seed of something cold in the pit of his belly. By the time they opened the door to the modest semi-detached house Jesus and Judas shared, the cold had crept to the fine hairs on his neck and arms like tiny pinpricks of ice and fire.</p>
<p>He knew his instincts were right as they entered the empty living room. It had the disquieting air of a place that had been invaded and tidied by someone other than its residents. “He must still be at work,” Jesus said unconvincingly. His bare feet brushed the edge of a rug that was not in its usual place. Looking down, he saw something glinting in its fibres. He crouched to see a few small, jagged pieces – broken glass. And on one of the rug’s edges, a smear of what looked like dried blood.</p>
<p>With growing fear he moved through the rest of the house, his movements increasingly aimless and frantic. He called his lover’s name over and over. Simon could do little but tail him uselessly. He could not find anything objectively out of place, a sign of what had happened. He just knew it was something bad.</p>
<p>When they circled back to the living area, they saw a gaudily dressed plump woman at the door they had left open. “There you are, dear,” she said to Jesus. “Heard about you in the news. You okay or not?”</p>
<p>Josephine Fung was the sort of friendly, nosy woman everyone treated as extended family sooner or later; she was known up and down the block as Aunt Jo or Auntie Fung. Seeing her restored some sense of normalcy Jesus didn’t realise he had been missing.</p>
<p>“Aunt Jo. Have you seen Judas?”</p>
<p>She put a hand to her mouth, which formed a small ‘O’ of dismay. “My dear. I thought you knew.”</p>
<p>He felt a terrible dread settle in his stomach about the same time Simon’s fine hairs turned momentarily to ice. “Knew what?”</p>
<p>Aunt Jo suddenly stepped forward to hug him, an act made awkward by his failure to respond, his arms hanging numb by his side. When she drew back, he saw that she could not bring herself to meet his eyes. “Your boyfriend… When he thought you’d already been executed…he couldn’t take it.” She inhaled nervously and went on. “I was the one who found him. The gate and door were all open, you see, the place was a mess. I thought at first there’d been a robbery. Until I…I found him in the bathroom.”</p>
<p>Jesus was already shaking his head in denial as she continued. “There was blood all over. From his wrists. He was cold when I touched him. So cold.” She reached out tentatively for his hand, his arm, in some vain attempt at comfort. “I’m so sorry.” He backed away as if she had burnt him.</p>
<p>“Where is his…where is he now?”</p>
<p>“I called the police immediately. But when they got here, the – well – Judas was missing.”</p>
<p>“What do you mean?” His breaths were laboured, his face growing pale. “I need to see him.”</p>
<p>“I don’t know where he is. I’m so sorry,” she said again. He looked at her coldly as if she was somehow to blame; as if Judas would still be alive if she had never found his body.</p>
<p>“If there’s anything I can do…”</p>
<p>“You’ve done enough.”</p>
<p>Simon laid a hand on his back. “Come on. It’s not her fault that – ”</p>
<p>“Go away. Both of you.” His voice was quiet, flat, as he walked away.</p>
<p>He didn’t know where his feet were taking him until he was sitting on the bed where they had last lain together. With a trembling hand he reached out for the pillow on the side Judas always occupied and held it tightly. It still smelt of him, woodsy and slightly sharp, a mix of his own scent and the cologne he sometimes wore. He buried his face in it like a child clinging to the last source of comfort in a world with none to offer.</p>
<p>Minutes ticked senselessly by as he willed himself to sink into sleep and dream of Judas in his arms. Not cold as Aunt Jo had described, but warm and alive. He wished for slumber from which he would never wake. There was an endless cold inside him that seemed untouchable, unfillable. Weighing him down so he could barely move. His eyes were dry as he lay in bed, curled around the pillow he couldn’t let go of. That was how Simon found him.</p>
<p>“Leave me,” he said, not unkindly. <em>You can’t do anything for me. Not right now.</em></p>
<p>“Alright.” Simon knew there was little he could provide by means of solace and support. But he also knew someone who could.</p>
<p>Some indeterminate length of time later, Jesus felt a hand cradling his head, pulling him gently onto a lap he had last lain on as a little boy. “Mom? How did you…”</p>
<p>“Your friend has some extraordinary abilities. Useful, too.” She kissed his forehead, and he felt his eyes well up. “He told me about Judas.”</p>
<p>“I just want to see him.” Jesus shuddered with sobs that refused to materialise. The suffocating sorrow inside him howled and railed in soundless cries, needing to be let loose, trapped in the prison of his ribcage. He let her pull him close as she miraculously expanded her petite frame to envelope him in her strength. “I didn’t get to say goodbye.”</p>
<p>“I know. You have no closure, and it’s terribly unfair.” She stroked his hair as he clung to her. “Time will make things better. You just have to let it.”</p>
<p>Knowing he was too weighted with misery for words, she spoke in his stead, her voice like a lullaby washing over him. She told him of his birth-father Joseph, of how he would make toys and figurines in his workshop as well as furniture. Birds were his favourite thing to carve. His growing illness had prevented him from making such fine things by the time Jesus was old enough to form clear memories of his dad. But when the child was two or three, he would sculpt wondrously detailed sparrows and magpies and little falcons, and place them in his son’s small hands. “You loved those birds. You named each of them and insisted that they flew off while you slept to land back on your windowsill in the morning, so you could never catch them in flight.”</p>
<p>Her recollections soothed him enough that his grief momentarily lifted. “I remember those birds, if not the making of them. I kept them all. They’re still in my old bedroom drawer, aren’t they?”</p>
<p>In response, she slid a hand into her pocket and placed the tiny object she took from it in between his fingers. A small bloom of bittersweet gladness reminded him that his heart had not stopped after all. The little bird was one of his favourites: a mynah stained with ash-brown and black ink, with a daub of yellow for the eye markings. He wished he could remember the name he had given to it; to her. He recalled it being a her. She would be there every time he woke up, waiting faithfully with her alert yellow-lined eyes.</p>
<p>“I was broken when he died – or so I thought,” she said softly. “People you love leave a gap in your life when they leave. When you know they’re never coming back. But I had you, and I knew part of him would live on in the child we both loved with every breath. ”</p>
<p>She hummed a lilting tune in imitation of a bird. “Mynahs sing in warning when there is danger nearby,” she said, her fingers brushing the wooden bird’s head. “If I’m not mistaken, they also mate for life.” She hugged him tightly. “Don’t suffer in silence. There are people who care deeply for you, and who would protect you with their lives.”</p>
<p>“Thank you for coming. For being with me.”</p>
<p>“You’re all I have in the world. I’ll be with you to the end of my life.” A solitary tear made its way down his face, and she kissed it away.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>~</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Sadness was not an emotion Simon had reason to be acquainted with until recently. The most upset he had ever been before having to kill his best friend and drag him back to life was when he had attempted to bake a cake and burnt down a whole kitchen. (Uryalh had thrown a right fit.) Restoring the place to its former state had been arduous work that bored him nearly to tears.</p>
<p>Cakes were fascinating things, considering their base ingredients were almost unfailingly the same. A good part of his time not spent hunting down his target had been spent in pursuit of sampling different flavours and varieties. To take his mind off the awful sight of Jesus clinging to the scent of his dead beloved with blank-eyed grief, he had ordered a garish rainbow-coloured confection meant for ten people and was in the midst of devouring the entire thing when an archangel interrupted him.</p>
<p>“Who are <em>you?</em>”</p>
<p>“I am Gabriel. We have met once before.” The angel was in the guise of a dark-skinned youth with a beanie cap that disguised the way their hair tended to disobey the laws of gravity.</p>
<p>“Don’t remember you. Go away, I’m trying to numb my feelings with cake.”</p>
<p>“Is it working?”</p>
<p>Simon glared daggers at them before realising it was a genuine question. With the exception of their fallen brethren, angels were unable to partake of the joys of food. “Now that you’re ruining the experience, not really.”</p>
<p>“I apologize.” The angel had a tormented look on their face. “I need to tell you something important.”</p>
<p>“Goes without saying. Telling people important things is kind of your job description.”</p>
<p>Gabriel leaned close enough to whisper, as if afraid God would hear them. “I have Judas’ body in safe keeping.”</p>
<p>Simon choked a little. “So you’re the one who stole it,” he accused through a mouthful of bright orange and indigo. “My best friend is shattered about it, just so you know.”</p>
<p>“You don’t understand. There is a chance you can bring him back to life.”</p>
<p>Simon pondered this for a bit. “There is. If he got to our side in the afterlife, that is.”</p>
<p>“He is not in ours. Well, not anymore.”</p>
<p>“What do you mean by that? You either get in or you don’t, right?”</p>
<p>“I received word that he caused a mighty disturbance of some sort. He might have been…”</p>
<p>“Kicked out?”</p>
<p>“Something akin to that.”</p>
<p>“That’s unusual.”</p>
<p>“That is an understatement, but yes.”</p>
<p>“Huh. Well. I don’t know, he might be stuck somewhere as a ghost. But I’ll check with my dad.” He narrowed his eyes. “Why are you helping us?”</p>
<p>Gabriel began wringing their clasped hands in a remarkably human gesture. “I promised him, you see,” they said in despair. “I swore to Judas that he and Jesus would not be parted forever; that they would be together again in life.” The swirling stardust eyes grew stormy. “It was the promise God delivered unto me. And He…” The angel choked their next words forth. “He <em>betrayed</em> me. He betrayed us all.”</p>
<p>They held both hands to their mouth as if they had spoken of the forbidden. Simon could have sworn he heard a distant quake of thunder.</p>
<p>“If God knew of what I had done…what I am doing now…He would banish me at best, and destroy me at worst.” Gabriel’s gaze began to radiate determination. “But I <em>must</em> do it. I must do one good thing by Jesus, or his beloved, to make up for the sins I have played a part in.”</p>
<p>“That’s…heavy." Simon looked at the angel with new appreciation. "Thanks a lot, though. For sticking your neck out like that. If we do manage to bring him back, it'll mean the world to Jesus.”</p>
<p>"I do hope you succeed," came the painfully earnest reply.</p>
<p>Simon extended a hand. “Can you take me to him – to his body?”</p>
<p>“Yes.” The sorrow on Gabriel’s face was replaced by a glimmer of hope as their fingers, solid and fleshly, closed around his.</p>
<p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Heaven Can Wait</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Ohana.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>The Dominions, the second-highest sphere of angels who spoke as one and presided over the admission of souls, were having a most upsetting week.</p><p>It had begun with the seraph Michael’s catastrophic failure to lead the would-be Christ to his ordained destiny.  The air itself had fairly sizzled from whispers of their dramatic banishment from the highest tier to the rank of a lowly guardian. They had not been heard from since. To speak their name seemed almost taboo, a whisper of scandal: a concept most angels were barely even acquainted with.</p><p>This was shortly followed by the snatching of the messiah from right under their (proverbial) noses. The rage of God had shaken the very foundations of Heaven as the Dominions were forced to admit that a demon-child had spirited God’s own son away before they could usher him to his rightful place. The demonic creature had turned out to be none other than the Adversary himself; the spawn of Satan, right at the edge of Heaven’s door. The disgrace of it!</p><p>And now one of their own had deserted them: a rogue archangel who had done the unthinkable and conspired with the Antichrist. The details of their transgression had been kept from the lower tiers; but telepathic bonds between those formerly of the same rank, some of whom had ascended, existed still. And so the word spread from cherubim to ophanim, from ophanim to the archangels and to the lower guardians, who were at that very moment abuzz with yet another outrage in relation to the one at hand: a ripple in the fabric of divine matter made by a man who had rejected Heaven. The same whose fleshly body the renegade angel had helped the Antichrist to retrieve.</p><p>
  <em>But what did he say to the Dominions?</em>
</p><p>
  <em>~ He told them that he wanted no part of God’s institution.</em>
</p><p><em>He dared defy God Himself?</em> </p><p>
  <em>~ In many blasphemous words none will deign to reiterate.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>And did the High Judges not stand in his way?</em>
</p><p>
  <em>~ I heard he told them to stick their swords in places the sun cannot reach.</em>
</p><p>There had been numerous instances where a soul was forbidden entry or ejected, sometimes forcibly, from the Hallowed Realm. But attempts to <em>leave</em> it were exceedingly rare. And for someone to so violently curse and fight their way out was insofar unheard of. While the upper spheres bowed their heads in prayer and pious chants on behalf of this appalling sacrilege, the archangels and guardians kept on whispering, their obedient ways perturbed and stirred by such possibilities as had never occurred to them until now.</p><p> </p><p>~</p><p> </p><p>Jesus knew he should not be haunting the places marked with the very memories that hurt him. But he did not know how else to mourn his beloved. His pilgrimage felt vaguely like a strange and prolonged ritual, a sending-off that would never happen. Knowing the man had taken his own life because of him kept opening a wound he thought had begun to close. Each time the wound hurt, he buried it beneath the fog of numbness that came more and more easily each time.</p><p>He sat in a corner of their favourite café and watched the world go by from behind a veil of unfeeling grey the warm tungsten lights could not pierce. There was a small stage at the back of the café when the place turned into an open mic joint on Thursday nights. During one of those sessions, an experimental beat poet began howling midway through a performance, thrashing and contorting as if possessed. Jesus found it fascinating; Judas thought it was pretentious bullshit. They argued about it all night and made love with a heart-pounding intensity later.</p><p>The day had begun warm, and now it was close to scorching. The heat made him dizzy. He tried to recall the last time he had slept, or eaten. (His mother would have beaten him with the nearest utensil she could grab for not taking better care of himself.) Above, the sky was bright and mockingly blue. The greyer his inner world became, the more cheerful everything else appeared to be. So when the smiling woman with the flowing hair walked buoyantly toward him, he took her to be simply one of the many friendly faces populating the streets until she flung out her arms and proclaimed:</p><p>“Praise be to the saviour! We exult in your emancipation!”</p><p>He stopped and blinked, utterly taken aback. A forty-something man joined her and raised his upturned hands as if begging for alms. “Praise be, the messenger of our Lord!”</p><p>“I’m sorry,” he said earnestly. “I am his messenger no longer.”</p><p>“But He has sent you to guide us! You said so yourself.” Two or three more people were gathering, their eyes full of identical zeal, offering their adulation to him and to a Lord he could no longer bring himself to serve.</p><p>“Listen, please.” He held up his hands until he was sure he had their attention. “I apologize if I’ve misled you. But I am only one person, not a divine messenger, or a healer or miracle-worker. I have never claimed to be those things.” He gently extricated himself from the passionate grip someone had on his arm. “You must find God in your own way. That is all I can tell you.”</p><p>“But I was there on the day you spoke of God’s love flowing through each of us. It must flow through you most of all!”</p><p>“You healed my sister.”</p><p>“You cured me of my depression.”</p><p>A lady grabbed his wrists hard enough to hurt, her fingers like iron bands. “You must help me. My husband’s gambling debts will leave my child homeless – ”</p><p>“Ma’am, please, I can’t help you with that.”</p><p>“Talk to him! I know he’ll listen.” Before he could answer, a young man built like a truck squeezed the breath from him with a hug. “You saved me in my hour of darkness,” he declared with feeling.</p><p>“That’s good to know. Can you please let me go?” he begged the woman still hanging on to his hands. “You’re hurting me.”</p><p>She would likely have kept hanging on, but was pushed back by another devotee, a shaggy-haired bearded man who cradled his head and kissed him long and hard on the mouth. The unexpected violation shocked him into stillness. “You changed my life, Jesus,” he said with tears in his eyes. He leaned in for another kiss, causing Jesus to stumble away and fall to the ground. A pair of arms reached out to pull him back to his feet. More arms surrounded him, encircled him; what had been an odd smattering of fanatics was suddenly a crowd. He was being touched and embraced and crushed from all sides. They called him a messiah, an angel in disguise, a man who had moved the most ruthless lawmakers to pardon him by the power of his grace and goodness. They called him a hero. He could barely breathe.</p><p>Somebody threw themselves bodily at him, and he would have hit his head on the pavement if the barrel-chested youth who hugged him earlier had not caught him. Then others were taking the young man’s place: a coursing river, unstoppable, assaulting him, pulling at him until he was pleading for them to stop. But no one could hear him over the hysteria that grew stronger as the crowd grew larger.</p><p>They were frightening in their ravenousness. As if they would tear him apart and feast on his flesh so that they would be cured. He was drowning in bodies, and the heat was suffocating.</p><p>An arm that meant to reach out in an embrace landed on his neck instead, and pulled tighter and tighter until it cut off his air and the world began to turn pale. He tried to speak and could only gasp. Everything was fading away….</p><p>“GET OFF HIM, YOU CUNTS!”</p><p>The blurred, very familiar outline of a very angry man with fists swinging sent a good part of the crowd scattering. There was the crack of bone breaking and someone screaming. Jesus fell to the ground and reflexively curled up to shield himself from more assaults, but none came. The feet all around him scattered until the stretch of street was emptied of raving devotees.</p><p>Someone was pulling him to his feet – the same person who had attacked the stifling horde so viciously was holding him with tenderness. He looked up into the eyes of the man he loved and whispered his name in disbelief.</p><p>Then he was falling again, but this time Judas caught him.</p><p>The sky and street tilted sideways as darkness briefly overwhelmed him. He was vaguely aware of being carried to safety in arms that held him tight, that kept him safe from the hungry crowd. Bright heat gave way to dim coolness that smelt faintly of paper. Jesus opened his eyes to see the bookstore where he and Judas had sought shelter from the rain after their second date. The very same he had subconsciously sought out in another endeavour to relive what he had lost. As his senses fully returned, he felt solid wood beneath him and sun-warmed glass against his back. They were at the window seat in the corner hidden behind the Biographies section. Where they had shared their first kiss.</p><p>He was uncertain if he was dreaming, clinging to a ghost, until the ghost said his name and brought him fully back to life. The numbness he had been cocooned in for days lifted as he pulled the other into his arms and felt his fierce longing reciprocated twofold. “You’re alive,” he gasped.</p><p>“Didn’t want to be at first. Until Simon – who is apparently Satan’s child – told me you were walking the earth again.”</p><p>“It’s a lot to take in, I know.”</p><p>“It is. Seems I have to believe in God and the Devil and miracles all at once.” Not that he seemed too eager to reconcile his conflicting beliefs all at once. Judas was as caught up as he was in the tender exploration of each other’s bodies, fully appreciating the fact that they were living and breathing and here in the place where, soaked and shivering, they had sought warmth in each other.</p><p>“I can’t believe you – that you killed yourself because I…because of me.” His eyes welled with tears, and this time they flowed freely, and would not stop.</p><p>“Is it so hard to believe that life without you is barely worth living?”</p><p>“Shut up.”</p><p>The heaviness lifted from his heart in a rush that hurt as much as it relieved him. He sobbed into Judas’ chest as the other held him tight until he was completely drained of that weight. To cry so unrestrainedly was at once painful and pleasurable: an emptying of the grief that had taken over him so that he had forgotten how to feel anything else. And then their lips met as if they would never part, and in that moment all was right with the world.</p><p>In the bliss of their reunion, the lovers were unaware of the two people standing in the street and watching them from the bookstore window.</p><p>“Thanks for the favour, dad,” said the younger of the two. “I promise he’s the last person you’ll have to resurrect. For at least the next century.”</p><p>“He’d better be. I’ve performed more miracles in the past few days than the whole of Heaven has managed in fifty years,” the older man replied dryly. Tall and lean, he had the look of a well-aged rock star.</p><p>“Did he really punch his way out of Heaven?”</p><p>“More or less. Caused quite the fuss on his way out, I heard.”</p><p>“What a legend.” After a pause, the young man continued: “He’d make a good brother-in-law, don’t you think?”</p><p>“From what I understand of human customs, he needs to be wed to be an in-law.”</p><p>Simon snorted. “Please. They’re as good as married. We both know that.”</p><p>Satan gave a long-suffering sigh, but his lips were curved in a smile. “Haven’t given up on the adoption thing, have you?”</p><p>“I mean. I can keep asking for the next two hundred years. Or you can save yourself the trouble.”</p><p>After a thoughtful silence, Satan said: “Technically, since he passed through Hell and was restored to life by my hand, it would mean that God no longer has any claim on him. So….”</p><p>Simon broke into a wide, radiant, irrepressible smile.</p><p> </p><p>~</p><p> </p><p>The morning throng circulating the street along the aging building unfailingly clustered around the small bakery that had recently spruced up its exterior with fresh paint and a new hand-carved sign. By half past eight, the aroma of the first freshly baked batch would start pulling in the regulars as well as a handful of new passers-by, none of whom ever walked out empty-handed. Mother and son took turns serving customers while the other kneaded more loaves and laffa and fluffy wholewheat pitas to fill the shelves that were emptied at a steady pace until the late morning lull, when the pastries would sit in peace until lunch hour saw them snatched up by the next batch of visitors.</p><p>The demons dropped by occasionally in their human forms to sample the goods and obtain some for the Lord of Hell, who was partial to the challah. During their first visit, they forgot to pay with real money; Mary made sure they remembered each time thereafter. Simon was in charge of procuring supplies, coming in every so often hauling flour and eggs and poppy seeds. He had little use for currency and demanded to be paid only in doughnuts for his troubles.</p><p>“Of all the good stuff we make here, you have to ask for these?” Jesus asked incredulously as he pulled a full tray from the oven, each stuffed with sickly sweet cream he would never dream of letting near his other breads. Simon didn’t wait for them to cool as he reached for a doughnut and bit off a whole half.</p><p>“I don’t know what you’re talking about. They’re amazing.” Simon swallowed the rest of the  sugary confection and grabbed another. “By the way, the demolition of the apartment blocks met with a series of mysterious mishaps.” He was referring to the development project Jesus had been leading a protest against on the day he first met Satan. “Last I heard, they’re calling it off. I guess the residents get to keep their homes.”</p><p>Jesus bit back a triumphant smile. “Nobody got hurt, right?”</p><p>“Nobody died.” Simon paused to recall the details. “No limbs, digits or eyeballs lost.”</p><p>His brother raised an eyebrow. “Did Dad approve?”</p><p>“Sure he did. The abridged version, anyway.”</p><p>Jesus shook his head, but the smile stayed at the corner of his mouth as he went off to help his mother at the front of the house. ‘Your boyfriend’s here,” she told him. He looked to the door to see Judas walking through it. After all these years, his heart still leapt at the sight.</p><p>Judas stroked his cheek under the pretext of wiping away a streak of flour, instead smearing it further. He thought Jesus looked incredibly attractive marked with traces of his labour. There were few things he enjoyed more than watching Jesus rolling and folding dough, his forearms lightly dusted with white, his face full of concentration and peace.</p><p>“I should clean myself up.”</p><p>“Don’t. You look good like that.” They were barely at the back of the shop before Judas pulled him in for a thorough necking. “Not while there are customers around,” he protested, making very half-hearted attempts to stop Judas’ hands from sliding beneath clothes.</p><p>“Let them watch. I didn’t get myself kicked out of Heaven for nothing.”</p><p>“Would you have stayed if I had?”</p><p>“Would <em>you</em> have stayed if Simon hadn’t pulled you out?”</p><p>Jesus’ face grew sombre, thoughtful. “I don’t know. I really don’t.” His downcast eyes grew suddenly sad. Judas cradled his face.</p><p>“What’s making you miserable now?”</p><p>“It’s just that… There’s so much of my life that seems…unreal, made of lies and half-truths. Everything I believed in.” He sighed. “There are days when I don’t know if I want any of my old life back, other than you and Simon and my mother. And other days I wish for things to go back to the way they were.”</p><p>“Would you rather have remained blind – a lamb led unknowingly to slaughter?” Judas stroked the curve of his neck. “And would you have gone to it willingly, if you’d known?”</p><p>He didn’t answer, instead falling into such a deep silence that Judas had to squeeze the curve of his behind to lighten his mood. “You’re still a moody little bitch, you know. Some things don’t change.”</p><p>He finally smiled and they kissed deeply and leisurely, parting only when they heard a faint click and turned to see Simon aiming a phone camera at them. “Stop shirking your duties or I’m telling Mom.”</p><p>Judas made several attempts to snatch the phone away while calling Simon a number of foul names, none of which offended him in the least. Jesus hovered at the edge of the tussle, torn between annoyance and amusement. There was a melodic trill in the air as the wooden mynah that now had a place of honour on the cashier counter came to life, bewitched by Simon. It circled the both of them before swooping down to land a few pecks on Judas’ hands. He yelped in irritation more than pain. “One of these days I’ll stab you where it hurts!”</p><p>“That’s what you get for messing up my hair!”</p><p>“I’ll mess up a lot more than your hair – ”</p><p>“Boys!” Mary’s voice froze them in place with Judas holding Simon in a stranglehold while Simon’s elbow was inches from his crotch. “What are you, six years old?”</p><p>“I turn five this year, Mom.”</p><p>“Very funny, Simon. Aren’t you supposed to be getting salt?”</p><p>“It’s on the way. Raja says he’ll be here before twelve.” Simon slipped out of Judas’ grasp just as Jesus plucked the phone from his hands. “I think Simon needs his phone privileges revoked for a week,” he remarked. “He’s been trolling us on Twitter nonstop.”</p><p>Simon gasped and clutched his chest. “Betrayal! From one’s own flesh and blood!”</p><p>“We’re not even related – ”</p><p>“I saved you from the jaws of death! Such ingratitude! I’ll never forget this if we live five thousand years!”</p><p>Mary cut in. “Are we having your dad over for dinner later, Simon?”</p><p>H straightened and dropped the dramatics. “Yeah. He’ll be over at seven-thirty. Eight at the latest.”</p><p>“Good. You can have your phone back then.” She took it from Jesus and slipped it into her pocket before returning to the front to greet a customer. As soon as her back was turned, Simon made a face at Judas, who promptly flipped him off. Jesus rolled his eyes and pulled him away. “Can you not start a new round?”</p><p>“<em>He</em> started it.”</p><p>“See, now you <em>do </em>sound like a six-year-old.”</p><p>“Are you on his side or mine?”</p><p>“I already took his phone away. Am I going to be pressured to pick sides for all eternity?”</p><p>“Naturally.” Judas’ fingers were in his hair, pulling him back in as the moon pulls the tide. He gave in gladly to its inexorable force as the mynah came to land on his shoulder and sang softly in his ear.</p><p> </p><p>~</p><p> </p><p>The former seraph, now denigrated to the rank of a lowly guardian, faced the Dominions as they transmitted the word of God to one who had lost the privilege of receiving it directly.</p><p><em>YOU HAVE BEEN DISGRACED, MICHAEL. HAVE YOU ANYTHING TO SAY FOR YOURSELF?</em> </p><p>“Only that I have ever been the Lord’s faithful servant and His most devoted soldier, from the very moment of my conception.”</p><p>
  <em>THEN HOW HAVE YOU FALLEN SO FAR?</em>
</p><p>“In my defence, High Ones, the Antichrist proved most devious. What he lacked in honour and faith, he made up for in underhanded tactics that…”</p><p><em>YOU WERE HEAVEN’S MOST TRUSTED GENERAL. WHAT GOOD IS A LEADER OF WARRIORS WHOSE STRATEGY IS WEAK AGAINST THAT OF THE ENEMY?</em> </p><p>Michael prostrated themself before the winged beings who now towered above him. How their roles had been reversed! “I can only plead an excess of confidence,” they admitted. “With the grace of God behind me, I felt myself to be invincible. But my own arrogance was my undoing.”</p><p>
  <em>YOU ARE MOST FORTUNATE THEN, GUARDIAN. FOR THERE IS A CHANCE AT REDEMPTION, AND THE RESTORATION OF YOUR LOST GLORY.</em>
</p><p>Hope flickered within them, even in their state of humiliation. “I am unworthy, but most thankful.”</p><p>
  <em>THE ALMIGHTY WILL RECOVER WHAT HAS SLIPPED THROUGH OUR FINGERS. AND HE HAS ASIMPLE ENOUGH TASK SUITED TO ONE OF YOUR STATURE. </em>
</p><p>“The Almighty is merciful indeed.” Michael burned with the condescension in the unified voices. But now was the time to be the humble servant. Their pride had been their fall. Now, through humility and tenacity, they would earn their former place by the right hand of God.</p><p>The Dominions told them of what they must do. Their mission would not be one of force and combat, but one of persuasion and charm. Through the power of the masses, they would build a Heaven on earth and lead its devotees to its true Ruler.</p><p>
  <em>SEE TO IT THAT YOU DO NOT FAIL THIS TIME.</em>
</p><p>“I will not surrender until I succeed. You have my promise, High Ones. And so does the Lord.”</p><p> </p><p>~</p><p> </p><p>Simon would remember the evening of that casual, homely dinner as the first time his father had ever requested his advice – specifically, pertaining to the matter of what to wear. “You’ve had extensive experience with human clothing, Dad,” he said while trying not to roll his eyes in amusement at being made to choose between scarves and ties.”</p><p>“Not for the specific occasion of meeting your stepmother for the first time.”</p><p>“Oh, please. It’s a family affair, not a date.” He squinted suspiciously. “Unless there’s been a misunderstanding. What exactly did Jrbral tell you?”</p><p>“Don’t be ridiculous. I have no intention of making this a courtship.”</p><p>“Good. She’s probably not dressing up for <em>you.</em>” Simon shoved a deep blue jacquard shirt at his dad. “Here – with the black corduroys.<em> No</em> tie, unless you feel like embarrassing me.”</p><p>He ended up being proven wrong. Despite showing no romantic interest in her son’s new father, Mary had taken the effort to braid her hair and adorn her ears and wrists with silver hoops and bangles that clinked pleasantly as she moved her hands in animated conversation. The subtle scent of her perfume lingered in the air until it was overtaken by the delicious aromas of dinner. The feast adorning the table was a potluck: a combination of Mary’s stew and couscous, Jesus’ garlic-and-herb flatbread, a spiced ham from Judas; and from Simon, an unidentifiable lemon-yellow substance that came in a large casserole dish and smelt slightly burnt. It oozed in a vaguely disturbing way when sliced into. Satan had a taste and deemed it perfectly acceptable – “tangy and slightly peppery. Have some,” he urged the rest, pushing it their way.</p><p>“Oh, I’m stuffed. I blame that excellent ham.”</p><p>“I need to save room for dessert. Mom made baklava.”</p><p>“I wouldn’t put that colour on my walls, never mind in my stomach.” This earned Judas an elbow nudge from his boyfriend. “What? It’s Simon’s. I’d have to reach over and slice off his ear to properly offend him.”</p><p>Simon shrugged. “Ears grow back pretty fast. You could have a collection of my ears if you wanted to take one off each week.”</p><p>“Now, son, is that really an appropriate subject for our first family meal?”</p><p>“<em>He </em>started it.”</p><p>“I’m sure Simon put a lot of effort into making that,” Mary offered diplomatically. (“Whatever ‘that’ is,” Judas muttered.) “I can keep it for tomorrow. Always good to have extra food lying around.” She smiled. “So…shall I bring out dessert?”</p><p>The cinnamon-laced baklava was perfectly flaky and golden brown, topped with crushed walnuts. Everyone suddenly had room for more food again. Satan had procured two tall bottles of very good sake and proceeded to fill the small ceramic cups he conjured for the occasion. By the time they were halfway through one bottle, the conversation was twice as loud and jovial, the oozing yellow dish cheerfully forgotten. Shortly after emptying her fifth cup of fragrant rice wine, Mary looked to Satan and proclaimed: “You know, I’m the only person at this table who’s yet to see your true form.”</p><p>“The rock-hard flesh and weird eyes isn’t doing it for you?” asked Simon. He had finally achieved an inebriated state with the help of a flask he kept in his pocket that held a liquid strong enough to burn down several houses. A whole bottle of human-made liquor would have provided a pleasant buzz at most.</p><p>Satan smiled. “If I grew to my full height, your roof would require some extensive repairs.”</p><p>“Must be an impressive sight. Better than God could manage, at any rate.”</p><p>“You are not exactly wrong. God has trouble taking any solid form for very long – unless it was something truly massive, like a mountain, or a large waterfall. He is made of too vast an amount of unearthly matter.” Satan smiled deeply. “And he certainly could not have enjoyed this feast I’ve had the privilege to partake of.”</p><p>“I’m glad my son has a proper father again,” she said. “My late husband would approve.”</p><p>“He would approve of the disgraced angel who presides over sinners unworthy of Heaven?”</p><p>“The only disgrace I have ever encountered is the so-called father who lied to my son all his life and groomed him to give up his own life so someone else could gain power.”</p><p>“Mom, it’s fine. I’m fine now.” Jesus’ hand was on her arm.</p><p>“No; she’s right and she should say it.” Judas raised his sake cup. “I’ll toast to that.”</p><p>They raised their cups and joined the toast. As he emptied his, feeling the sweet pleasant burn warming his insides, Jesus sensed a familiar presence unseen to all but him. He would have recognised them no matter what their guise.</p><p>The angel slipped out the door, and Jesus excused himself from the table as he followed in its wake. “Gabriel,” he called. “It <em>is </em>you, isn’t it?”</p><p>“I apologize. I wanted to see if you were well.” Gabriel smiled. They wore the face of a dark-skinned man with their hair in tight wiry curls, looking most convincingly human, down to the small silver hoop in their nose. “And I’m glad you are.”</p><p>“It’s good to see you.”</p><p>“You aren’t angry with me?” A brief shadow crossed their visage. “For manipulating you all those years, since you were an innocent child?”</p><p>“None of it was your doing. You were only a messenger.”</p><p>“I should have been more,” they said regretfully.</p><p>“You were all you knew how to be. There’s nothing to forgive.” Jesus took their hand, feeling the cool fingers that had first brushed his forehead when he was a baby. “I really am glad to see you.”</p><p>“And I am beyond glad. To see you not just alive, but whole again.”</p><p>Jesus tilted his head. “There’s something…different about you.”</p><p>“If you mean that Heaven’s light has left me, you are correct.”</p><p>He inhaled sharply. “You’ve been banished?”</p><p>Gabriel shook their head; one of those stiff yet oddly fluid movements in mimicry of human gestures. They were getting better, though. “Your beloved is not the only one who left the Hallowed Realm of his own will.”</p><p>“Oh. Will you live as one of us now?”</p><p>“I will endeavour to. Doubtless it will take some getting used to…but then, others before me have succeeded. Even found happiness.”</p><p>“Will you come visit every so often?”</p><p>“If you would like me to, then...yes.” Gabriel’s face glowed briefly, as if they still radiated divine light. “May you find your happiness too. Your life is your own now. Remember that.”</p><p>Jesus threw his arms around the angel, who reciprocated clumsily but sincerely. “I will.”</p><p>As Gabriel drew back, he heard his mother calling to him. “What are you doing out there?”</p><p>“Just catching up with a friend.” He turned back to see the man he had been talking to retreating into the distance. With a smile and a bloom of contentment in his full belly, he walked back to the glowing square of light formed by the open door that led him to the embrace of the ones he loved. The ones who had saved him.</p><p> </p><p>- <strong>THE END </strong>OF <strong>PART 1 -</strong></p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>This story began with Jesus turning from the light of Heaven’s door, and ended with him walking towards the light of his family home. I didn’t even notice this till after I had written it, but now I know I wouldn’t end it any other way.</p><p>Whatever Michael is up to will constitute a significant part of the Part 2 (or Season 2 as I like to call it, after a TV series that will never exist) if and when I get to writing it (I’ve already started plotting, at any rate). To the three or four people who actually care: I appreciate every one of you and your kind words.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Portents</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Unwanted attention on social media, the great movie night debate, and a dash of existential angst</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Part 2 commences. From hereon I will be making things up in a way that gives off the illusion that I know what I'm doing.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p>
<p>
  <strong>~  P A R T   2  ~</strong>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <strong>-2 AND A HALF YEARS LATER-</strong>
</p>
<p>He woke to the sound of chirping. The little mynah carved by the father who had died in his childhood was perched on his phone, its wooden feet making a soft click-clack on the glass surface. Ever since being touched by his stepbrother’s demon magic, the exquisitely carved wooden bird, about a third the size of a real mynah, would spring to life on occasion and blink its shiny black eyes at him or sing in a lilting tongue he wished he understood.</p>
<p>The bird occupied the counter at the front of the bakery by default. But of late he had taken to bringing it home when he and his mother closed up for the day. Its presence was a comfort – although why he had begun to long for that comfort, he could not say. Life had been good enough to him. Since childhood, he had not known what it was to live unburdened by external forces pulling on the threads of his life and shaping his will to theirs. But his existence, and his future, was his own now. As a fallen angel had reminded him.</p>
<p>He stretched lazily across the rumpled sheets, still pleasantly sore; Judas had been insatiable last night. They both had been. Had the latter not risen earlier and lay beside him still, they might well have gone for another round. As it was, the temptation to spend half a day in bed was strong. But he had promised to take the first shift of the donation drive at the small outreach centre he had formed with a few college mates and the building proprietor who had let them have the space for free. One of his mates had sent him a picture of a pile of cartons stuffed to the brim, needing to be sorted. It seemed a good time to put out a call for volunteers on the Facebook page of which he was co-administrator.</p>
<p>That was when he saw the comments. A slew of them, posted some time during the past few hours when he had been blissfully asleep.</p>
<p>
  <em>The founder is a fraud. He has deceived us.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>He has cut off contact with us, his most faithful devotees. Why?</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Don’t be fooled by this liar. He abandoned you once and he will do it again.</em>
</p>
<p>There were more such messages in the inbox, and in those of the other two pages he managed: one for a women’s shelter, another for an organisation supporting transgender youths. <em>What lies have you told my son? </em>Another message: <em>You are a charlatan. You fed off the hopes of others and used them as you pleased. </em>And another, this one in alarming hyperbole: <em>You dared to parade yourself as a saviour sent by the Lord our God, and now you have turned from His glory to disgrace yourself and show your true colours. May the world know of your desertion and betrayal! Shame on you and your kind!</em></p>
<p>As he was reading the inflammatory words, another two alerts popped up. One of them with a link to an article from some fringe website full of wild theories he would not normally have paid heed to. <em>‘SON OF GOD’ EXPOSED AS A FRAUD,</em> the bold headline screamed.</p>
<p>His heart pounded, the pleasant weight in his limbs replaced by cold anxiety. With trembling hands he deleted the disquieting comments and messages one by one. It was only after he had erased them all that he realised he should have reported the accounts first. But there was nothing to be done now. <em>It’s just the nature of the internet,</em> he told himself. <em>In two weeks’ time I’ll barely be a blip on the radar. </em></p>
<p>It was a day he looked forward to: the luxury of anonymity, like slipping beneath a warm blanket on a chill day. His pulse slowly returned to its usual pace as the mynah pecked his hand affectionately before settling back onto the bedside table.</p>
<p>The sound of bickering trailing in from the living room grounded and comforted him. His brother had recently moved in two houses away from theirs, as if he couldn’t teleport at a whim right to their gate – or beyond it, if he couldn’t be bothered with the niceties of ringing a doorbell. Still, it did allow them the option of paying <em>him</em> a visit if they ever needed to. They generally tried to avoid such a need. Facing the walls of Simon’s house gave one the sensation of being slapped in the face with five obnoxiously bright colours all at once.</p>
<p>His sibling’s taste in interior décor was not the only thing Judas was unreservedly critical of. Judging from the snatches of conversation, Simon had brought pizza and had managed to pick precisely all the toppings his boyfriend hated.</p>
<p>“What kind of person thinks shrimp and tuna <em>and</em> ranch sauce on the same pizza is acceptable?”</p>
<p>“The kind of person who isn’t a coward, probably.”</p>
<p>“Nice try,” said Judas, resisting Simon’s bait with some effort. “It’s too early for this shit.”</p>
<p>“It’s already past ten.”</p>
<p>“Still too early for prawns on fucking pizza. They don’t smell too fresh either.”</p>
<p>Simon saw Jesus emerging and trying to slip into the kitchen unnoticed. “Ah! Look who’s alive. My dear brother will surely be more appreciative of my efforts at being a purveyor of sustenance.”</p>
<p>“The thought does count for something,” he conceded, trying to assess the dubious state of the shrimp from where he stood. “Do you want some coffee?” The question was more habitual than anything; Simon never said no to coffee. He brought two steaming mugs of Brazilian roast to the table, plonking the sugar jar beside Simon’s. Judas rolled his eyes but refrained from commenting when the man promptly emptied three heaping spoons into his mug. After over two years of being acquainted with the wayward spawn of Satan, he had become accustomed to quality brews being butchered before his eyes.</p>
<p>“You still haven’t picked a movie,” said Simon.</p>
<p>“What movie?” asked Jesus.</p>
<p>“We thought of hosting a movie night, with Mom and Dad over. Maybe Uryalh and Afryal too. Not Jrbral, because they have a permanent stick up their ass, so please don’t tell them.”</p>
<p>“I don’t know about that,” Jesus commented. “Uryalh isn’t the best with secrets.”</p>
<p>“Anyway, your boyfriend disagrees with all my picks so far, so I’ve made it his responsibility to choose something.”</p>
<p>Judas lit a cigarette. “I already presented you with over twenty options, plus every Batman movie in existence.”</p>
<p>“Not <em>every </em>Batm – ”</p>
<p>“Every <em>good</em> Batman movie in existence.”</p>
<p>Simon snorted. “How do you even live with this guy?” he asked Jesus before washing down the last slice of pizza with his over-sweetened beverage.</p>
<p>“Well, now that he has you to be disagreeable with, we don’t fight as much anymore.”</p>
<p>“Oh, so I’m being sacrificed for the benefit of your relationship?”</p>
<p>“It’s called having a life purpose. You’re welcome.” Judas stole a swig of Jesus’ coffee.</p>
<p>Another snort, louder and more indignant this time. “Jesus. <em>You </em>pick a movie.”</p>
<p>His phone buzzed before he could ask what options they had already ploughed through. It had been vibrating on and off for the past few minutes. Thinking it was James and Matthew texting about the charity drive, he opened his messages and immediately felt a rush of dread filling his chest like icy water. A whole string of texts from six or eight unidentified numbers, all of them filled with accusations and threats. Simon and Judas saw the change in his face and frowned in unison. “What is it?”</p>
<p>“H-how did they get my number?” His hands were shaking as Judas took the phone from him.</p>
<p>“How long has this been going on?” the latter asked, eyes fixed on the previews of inflammatory texts as if he could kill the senders with his glare.</p>
<p>“They just started today.”</p>
<p>“And you couldn’t have mentioned it earlier while we were arguing about pizza and movies?”</p>
<p>“They were just…stupid comments on Facebook, at first. On one of the pages I manage. I thought it would blow over.” He knew now that it was a statement of denial. Whatever had found him was just beginning to sink its claws in.</p>
<p>He took his phone back from Judas. “Don’t read them,” his boyfriend warned just as his finger accidentally hit one of the random messages. He felt the blood drain from his face and hands at the phrases he caught sight of before Simon plucked the phone away. Threats of unspeakable things being done to his person that he told himself were empty words, but that still made him faint with fear. “I think we should report these people, don’t you?” Simon said softly, eyes full of daggers.</p>
<p>“I think we should kill them in the slowest way possible,” Judas growled.</p>
<p>“Most of them are unlisted.”</p>
<p>“Oh, there are ways to trace them,” Simon countered, his usually warm voice tempered with steel. “We’ll make them show up. We’ll make them pay.”</p>
<p>Jesus managed a shaky smile. “I’m lucky to have you.” Judas’ chest was against his back, a steady assuring presence. “Both of you.”</p>
<p>Judas’ hands were clasping his, warming his chilled fingers. “Don’t go to that centre today,” he urged. “Stay out of sight until this bullshit blows over.”</p>
<p>“And how long will it take to blow over? I can’t just imprison myself for a month straight.”</p>
<p>“I’ll go with him.” Simon squeezed Judas’ shoulder. “Anything happens, I’ll deal with it.”</p>
<p>Judas frowned. “I know you will. Just feels like I should be there when it happens.”</p>
<p>Jesus’ arms encircled his waist and pulled him close. “I’ll be fine with Simon. Go to work and don’t worry about me.”</p>
<p>“I <em>will </em>worry and you can’t stop me.” They kissed, briefly but fiercely. ”You’ll call me if anything goes wrong.”</p>
<p>“I’ll haul you in myself,” Simon promised. “If I need a spare set of fists.”</p>
<p>It was a good thing Jesus didn’t need to factor in commuting time with his brother’s teleportation abilities on hand. He ended up spending an inordinately long time in the shower, filled with the urge to spend the next two hours under the warm jet of water until the world started making sense again. He didn’t dare look in the mirror when he finally emerged from the bathroom, not wanting to see traces of the trepidation he was trying to push away.</p>
<p>Simon’s arm around him was reassuring as his living room disappeared into blinding white and they materialised the entrance of the outreach centre. But they never got much further than that. Barely seconds after, the scent of gunpowder pervaded the air and Hell’s Arch Messenger Jrbral appeared with a faint crackling sound.</p>
<p>Simon took one look at their dour face and asked, rather needlessly: “Bad news?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>~</p>
<p> </p>
<p>For the past several hours, the Arch Messenger’s department had felt like a sinking ship everyone was doing their best to bail. They had not been this greatly affected by human activity on the interwebs since the worldwide Y2K scare initiated by a Watcher demon had made for an enjoyably chaotic time for all.</p>
<p>Demons thrived on mayhem only when it they were the cause of it. Things were significantly less fun when internet trolls became a force of their own, and with not even a single demon among them. It was an insult Afryal – head of Crisis Management – would have taken personally. And they were certainly about to, once the long string of alarming reports reached their division.</p>
<p>“Why am <em>I </em>always the one relaying bad news to the boss?” Afryal bitched through the private telepathic line. “<em>You’re</em>the head Messenger.”</p>
<p>“Because this is a Crisis.”</p>
<p>“Don’t be dramatic. Pronouncements by doomsday theorists on the internet is not a crisis, it’s a fact of life.”</p>
<p>“I am never dramatic. I am the least dramatic of the four of us.” They referred to the four Arch Demons who, under Satan’s reign, collectively kept Hell and its earthly affairs running as smoothly as a system based on adaptive chaos could. “You should be concerned that all of this activity is targeting one very important person who happens to be Satan’s own son.”</p>
<p>“Adopted son.”</p>
<p>“He has become more attached to the boy than you would believe. If anything terrible should befall Jesus, we’ll lose our heads.” Afryal knew they meant that literally. Jrbral was not generally imaginative enough for hyperbole.</p>
<p>“Ugh. You’re probably right. Fine, I’ll get on it.”</p>
<p>“And do look into that detergent pod prank while you’re at it. I believe it is one of ours.”</p>
<p>“Don’t push your luck.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>~</p>
<p> </p>
<p>They looked in dismay at the small picturesque chapel that saw a constant stream of people through its aged oakwood doors during weekends, which were now splashed with a proclamation in garish yellow paint: <em>YOUR SAVIOUR HAS ABANDONED YOU. LOSE HOPE, ALL WHO ENTER HERE</em></p>
<p>“There are more of such cases. I found twenty five this morning across two continents. I have relayed them to Simon, but doubtless the pictures are already on the Internet.” Simon made a face at the grim images he had just been telepathically inundated with.</p>
<p>“Afryal has arranged for various network infiltrations to delete them from the cyber-sphere,” Jrbral added in what they hoped passed for a reassuring tone. The demon had cast a cloaking charm over them for fear that the vandals – or those who believed the message they had left – might be in the vicinity. “It would have been better for you not to come,” they said to Jesus, a thread of sympathy detectable in their reproachful tone.</p>
<p>“I had to find out eventually.” He bit his lip in an effort to hold back a growing outrage and despair to see the peaceful place of worship so defiled, wanting nothing more than to correct the proclamation. “It was my fault. I should have finished what I started.”</p>
<p>“Knowing your tendency to blame yourself for things until it gets too much and you blow up at someone, I’m disagreeing by default,” Simon scoffed with a flippancy that poorly hid his deeper concern. “But also because you’re wrong.”</p>
<p>“Am I, though?” He folded his arms and looked away. “Who else caused all this, if not me?”</p>
<p>“Uhm. Your former dad in Heaven, for one. The angels whose job it was to brainwash you into martyrdom, for another.”</p>
<p>“But…I should have at least – ”</p>
<p>“If you say another word I’ll smack you in the face.”</p>
<p><span>Jrbral stared hard at the accusatory words. Beneath their unblinking eyes </span>paint began to crack and crumble, falling in fine chips until there was not a trace left in the wood grain. “Afryal has already organised a clean-up team to do the same,” they stated matter-of-factly. “We’ll do as much as we can.”</p>
<p>“Shouldn’t be that hard. It’s not like such things haven’t happened before.”</p>
<p>“Crises of faith? No, those are not new. But neither should we underestimate such zeal.” The spiked ridges on Jrbral’s brow and shoulders stiffened, a sure sign of anxiety. “History has taught us that few forces are more dangerous or unpredictable than faith-based fanaticism.”</p>
<p>Jesus’ phone buzzed softly in his pocket. He unlocked the screen with trepidation, anticipating another anonymous intruder. But it was only James. <em>Where are you?</em> said the text. <em>We started ten mins ago. Join us when you’re awake</em> :)</p>
<p>The tiny island of utter normality stemming from the words on a screen, which his mind read in James’ friendly voice, slammed him face-first into the realization that everything – and everyone – was temporary. The people who made up so much of the fabric of his life would be swept away by time like dust. Whatever good he had tried to do now would be as footprints in sand. The sudden weight of this understanding was almost too much to bear.</p>
<p>Simon and Jrbral turned around to see him sitting on the grass and murmuring the names of his friends as if already mourning their deaths. “What are you on about now?” asked his brother.</p>
<p>“Nothing lasts except us,” he whispered. “None of this matters.”</p>
<p>“Oh, great. Someone’s having existential struggles now. After barely three years. If I knew you weren’t cut out for immortality, I would’ve – ”</p>
<p>“Let me stay dead?” His limbs felt like stone, paralysed, his lungs tightening in a kind of quiet panic. “Maybe you should have.” He was trying to steady himself, but his vision kept blurring, the blades of grass melting into a shifting indistinct mass.</p>
<p>Simon was saying something, but he couldn’t make out the words. Reality was all slippery, like butter sliding off a hot surface. He felt his brother crouching down beside him. “Hey. Listen to me.” His voice was uncharacteristically gentle. “It’s gonna be alright. Jesus? Come on, look at me. Focus. <em>Look </em>at me.”</p>
<p>Jesus finally raised his head to stare Simon in the eyes. “Good.” Simon smiled, then slapped him hard across the face.</p>
<p>Jesus gaped at him. “What the – ” He blinked and the world came back into focus.</p>
<p>“Feel better?”</p>
<p>He winced from the sting of Simon’s palm, which also felt oddly heartening. “Kind of.”</p>
<p>Jrbral shook their head. “After all this millennia, humans are still strange to me.”</p>
<p>“Only getting stranger.” Simon held out a hand and pulled Jesus to his feet. “Come on, let’s go help your friends with those crates.”</p>
<p>“I don’t know if I – if I can face them. Or how they’d react if I told them…if they knew.”</p>
<p>Simon squeezed his hand. “You know, you can move through life in an unfeeling haze until all you know is misery and you throw yourself off a building. Or you can appreciate what you have while you have it.”</p>
<p>“How would you know? You’ve been alive for exactly as long as I have.”</p>
<p>“I don’t know everything. I don’t have all the answers. And maybe someday you’ll get the chance to tell me I’m wrong.” He shrugged. “But I’m willing to bet I’m a little bit right.” He threw his arms around Jesus in a tight hug, which was gladly reciprocated. “Either way, you got me. We got this. OK?”</p>
<p>Jesus’ eyes caught Jrbral’s over Simon’s shoulder, who made an affirmative gesture. “What he said.” After a moment, they added: “I’ve met a few immortals through the years. Some of them make it with their sanity intact, and some become living husks who eventually beg for an end to their pointless existence. Eternal life can be a gift…if you find a way to live it well.”</p>
<p>“Thank you, Jrbral.”</p>
<p>“You are welcome. Always.” The demon’s countenance was as stoic as ever, but comforting to behold. “Go with your brother. Do what you know is right, as your father would say.”</p>
<p>“I will.” Jesus managed a smile as the demon and their surroundings disappeared from view.</p>
<p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Don't Dream It's Over</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>The rise of the New Kingdom, scarlet letters, and Hell's PR nightmare</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p><i>"There's a battle ahead<br/>Many battles are lost<br/>But you'll never see the end of the road<br/>while you're traveling with me"</i><br/>-Neil Finn (Crowded House)<br/>© Kobalt Music Publishing Ltd.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>They scattered petals at his feet and called him the new messiah. Where his predecessor had failed, he would lead them to the gates of Heaven even as he built one here on earth. His fame had spread seemingly overnight when a famous author who had met with a paralysing accident had risen from bed and gained faculty of her limbs beneath his touch. Before the eyes of camera lenses that would share his gift with the world, his status as God’s Chosen was cemented.</p><p>His name was Marcel Yadin, and he was the leader of the New Kingdom.</p><p>The same author had turned from writing crime thrillers to penning a series of evangelizing books that went from being disdained by sceptics to lauded as “the greatest revelation of a godless era”. From the richest to the poorest, the powerful to the lowliest, all he came into contact with surrendered their will at the blissful touch of his healing hands. With the wealth of benefactors whose lives he had changed flowing through his hands, the movement spread its reach, growing from a small community to a nationwide network. The same places of worship that had been splashed with words of warning and condemnation became temples to the New Kingdom of God.</p><p>The authorities kept a close watch, wary of one man amassing such power; to have history repeat itself so soon after the last fiasco would be nothing short of catastrophic. But for all their zeal, they caused no disturbance to the law, no revolutionaries and rabble-rousers among them. And so they were allowed to carry on in peace.</p><p>Such peace, of course, was only the calm before the thunderstorm. But no being of this earth could have guessed it – save a few.</p><p>On a moonless night in a sprawling field beneath the vast and endless dark, the messiah, surrounded by his most Sacred Circle, swayed in song and prayer. Only the most devoted of followers were admitted into the Circle. The ones who had dedicated every facet of their existence to him, and therefore to God. They were gathered tonight to receive the light from the Most High Himself. With this guiding light they would lead the Kingdom into a new age filled with the pure and cleansing love of the Lord in Heaven.</p><p>“Find the light seeded deep within you,” he had instructed them. “God has placed it there Himself. You need only find it.”</p><p>With linked hands they sang their devotion and praise. A few of them shed tears of joy, knowing that after this day, they would be reborn. Cleansed and full of radiance, ready to go forth into the world with love spilling from their outstretched hands. Love that would reach out to embrace the lost souls who were waiting for someone to make them whole again.</p><p>“You rise to a greater power,” he said to them now – in a whisper at first, then again, louder, and a third time, crying from the bliss that filled him to overflowing. They gasped and wept with him, the tears on their faces turned to gold with the light radiating from his very flesh. The luminosity passed from acolyte to acolyte, making their veins glow, until they became an orb of brilliance in the wide field, a sun in the darkness of night. <em>Turn your face to Heaven, children, </em>said the voice in their heads; a voice that sounded vaguely like Marcel’s, but also like that of a powerful being whose infinite existence stretched beyond human imagination. <em>Turn and face Him, so that you may go forth as soldiers of God when you are called upon to fulfil your sacred duty. As I am His Chosen, so you are mine!</em></p><p>“Witness me,” he said out loud. “See me as I will be!”</p><p>They answered his call in unison. As they opened their mouths, images of a towering being filled their head, many-winged and naked, neither male nor female, with multiple eyes that burned like the sun. <em>Witness me! See what I once was, and what you can be when you ascend from this human form. Witness the glory of Heaven, children of the Kingdom!</em></p><p>“I bear witness,” they wept, one after the other. “Praise be to the Chosen! Praise be to his Lord!”</p><p>When finally the flow of energy proved too much for human flesh and blood to bear, they collapsed onto the grass, faces frozen in the throes of ecstasy. Marcel himself fell to the ground, drained from the limited abilities now at his command, but his face still shone with triumph. Through the eyes that looked so kindly on his devoted followers, something hard and ruthless shone. The former seraph rose to their feet and held out their arms. “Witness me, Lord,” they whispered. “On this earth I will build Your empire.”</p><p> </p><p>~</p><p> </p><p>Satan was being haunted by visions of flames and a howling, singing mob. He felt the jaws of a bloody battle closing in and was exasperated by his inability to see the signs more clearly so he could prevent it. And yet knowing in itself was a curse. He loathed the burden of foresight; being all-knowing led to the path of madness, and to the tyranny he had accused God of, leading to his fall. Most of all he loathed the growing certainty that one or both of his children were in danger.</p><p>Assailed by increasing turmoil and the reports of the rise of an alarmingly influential prophet-figure – whom he had no doubt was entangled in the looming storm somehow – he sought the counsel of Arch Demon Mkkall, Head General of Hell’s armies.</p><p>“There’s going to be a War, isn’t there?”</p><p>“Undoubtedly.”</p><p>The sigh spilling from Satan had the sound of a dry, abrasive gale that could be felt through the walls. “Here we go again.”</p><p>Mkkall had the exceedingly patient air of one who had run out of sighs sometime around the last millennium. On the battlefield, they were capable of making scores of angels wet themselves if they could piss as humans do. But off it, they tucked away their large fangs and spiked tongue and bided their time. “There might be a chance yet of cutting the roots before the leaves can grow.”</p><p>“Do enlighten me.”</p><p>“On the first half-moon – ”</p><p>“The Market will open. Yes, I remember. Even if I haven’t been to one in centuries. My presence tends to draw unwanted attention.” The Market was a common ground where all denizens of Hell and Heaven were lawfully allowed to liaise and fraternise until daybreak. It came into existence once every nine decades, during the night of the year’s first waxing moon.</p><p>“I will go in search of Khamuel, the new Warlord of Heaven. And convince them to stop this madness that will surely plunge us all into a new Dark Age.” The demon’s unmoving countenance remained calm through this calamitous prediction, carnelian eyes unblinking in their contemplation.</p><p>“How much influence does the seraph Michael’s replacement have over God?”</p><p>“Enough, with any luck.”</p><p>“You are confident that this is a step in the right direction? Knowing how delicate such situations can be.”</p><p>“I am, my lord.”</p><p>Satan nodded. “There’s not much else we can do, after all.”</p><p>“If God means to have his war, he will have it. We must hope he does not.”</p><p>After Mkkall and his cheerful news left the chamber, Satan turned the tiny object in his hand over and over, the smooth metal soothing to the touch. It was as intact as when it had left its barrel, as polished as if it had never been used. Never been bloodied. The bullet that had killed his stepson so that Hell could lay claim on his body and soul gleamed gold from one angle and silver from another. No other like it existed on earth. Forged by demon magic, passing from one to another in a desperate act of succour, it now bound the two brothers without them even being aware of it.</p><p>Such a small thing. And yet Satan was filled with a vague yet indisputable feeling that it would tip the scales more than the mightiest. Hell or Heaven had to offer.</p><p> </p><p>~</p><p> </p><p>After several more incendiary anonymous texts, Jesus had changed his number and temporarily deactivated his social media accounts in an effort to preserve his sanity. Going off-grid had not been as difficult as he had thought it would be; James and Matthew were doing a good job of managing the online communities he could no longer be a part of, and had managed to weed out and report the few persons bombing them with intrusive messages.</p><p>Not having to constantly reply to messages and post updates also left him a bit more time to catch up on the pile of books he had been meaning to read. His favourite part of the day now was the end of it: a half hour or so spent reading in bed, his arm or head leaning against Judas’ shoulder as he rediscovered the freedom of falling asleep without waking up to death threats in his phone.</p><p>The surrounding blocks around the bakery were still quiet as they always were when he arrived. Having to start early meant he could have his pick of the otherwise scant parking options in the area. As he pulled into one of his usual spots, the wooden mynah sprang to life and started fluttering in a frenzy. He frowned and picked it up, feeling the wooden wings beat painfully against his fingers before the bird settled down, fixing its glossy black eyes on him in an almost imploring manner.</p><p>The sight that greeted him as he approached the bakery made his suddenly heavy heart pound as frantically as his wooden bird’s fit of agitation.</p><p>LIAR. BETRAYER.<br/>
FALSE PROPHET</p><p>With trembling fingers he touched the bright red paint. It was sticky, not yet completely dried. Someone – or several people – had been here not so long ago, sending a signal as clear as the large crude letters. They knew where he worked, possibly where he lived. (They could be watching him even now. He resisted the urge to look wildly around and let paranoia consume him at the first glimpse of a vaguely suspicious stranger.) It felt like a matter of days before such threats were splashed on his gate. Before he had no choice but to do what they no doubt wanted him to: go into hiding, disappear from the face of the earth, or perish.</p><p>For now, there was only one thing he could do.</p><p>An hour later, his back and arms were aching. He had thrown all his pent-up vexation into scrubbing the paint from the glass and window frames, deriving a strange satisfaction from the physical labour. He could have called on Simon to achieve the same thing in a matter of seconds. But this was something he needed. To feel like he was <em>doing </em>something that made a difference instead of standing by helplessly as the new life he had won crumbled around his feet.</p><p>Mary arrived to find him barely done with the first batch of baked goods, and already exhausted. “Did you start late?”</p><p>“Someone decided to redecorate the shopfront. I just had to do a bit of cleaning.”</p><p>The lines of her face stiffened with concern, and he added hastily: “It was nothing. Just some funny graffiti. Looked like the work of school kids.” He wondered if she bought the lie for a moment. For now, at least, she seemed more intent on allowing him some peace than confronting him. With her expert industriousness to the rescue, they had just enough to fill the shelves for the pre-office hours crowd and those who regularly grabbed a bagel or stuffed pita as a breakfast to go. But once things quieted down and the lunchtime customers were a good two hours away, she fixed him with the sort of look he could have felt through a wall. His wooden mynah chirped at him in reproach before going still again. He ignored it and delayed the inevitable as best he could, pretending to pour all his concentration into braiding challah as if he couldn’t do it in his sleep.</p><p>“That was more than just a bit of graffiti, wasn’t it?”</p><p>“It did take some time to clean off.”</p><p>“Tell me it was just bad drawings of dicks and I’ll get off your back.”</p><p>“It was a pretty good drawing of dicks.”</p><p>Her hands were on her hips now. “How long has this been going on?”</p><p>He pushed the tray of braided dough into the oven. “How long has what – ”</p><p>“Enough! Do you really think I don’t read the news?” Her voice was sharp with worry, with care. His heart grew heavy and his eyes stung with the immediacy of her love.</p><p>“I don’t want you to be involved. I couldn’t live with myself if anything happened to you…or to Judas….” He collapsed into the nearest chair. “Simon will probably be fine. But he’s upset by all all this, even if he pretends he’s not.” The anxiety that had abated with his going offline was rushing back twofold. <em>Liar. Betrayer.</em> The words were still fresh in his mind after the time spent strenuously scrubbing off each accusing red letter. It was almost enough to make him believe them.</p><p>“There is nothing you can tell me I won’t be able to bear,” she said softly, insistently. “To see you crumble beneath a weight you won’t allow anyone else to help you with?<em> That</em> is truly unbearable.”</p><p>He felt his mother’s hands on his shoulders, her strong fingers kneading in a steady rhythm, loosening the knots in his tired back. The soothing of sore muscles in his neck enveloped him in a halo of warmth, of safety. He cherished it all the more for its ephemeral nature. After a while, he felt his thoughts unravelling and words spilling forth: of the first ominous messages, the threats on his life, and the accusations of leading the hopeful astray, which somehow hurt the most. “I can’t feeling like…” He struggled to put his conflict into words. “Like by running from my problems, I failed the people I was trying to help.”</p><p>“It’s not running away. It’s choosing to make your own fate instead of leaving it in the hands of others. Or letting others tell you what to be.” She hugged him fiercely, and he felt a rush of comfort from the painful tightness of the embrace. “You didn’t fail anyone. You’ve done so much good despite everything that happened. And I’m so proud of you.”</p><p>“You’re right, as always.” He sighed into her shoulder. “But I still need to end what I started, somehow.”</p><p>“I know. But you don’t need to do it alone.”</p><p>“I can’t ask anyone else to be responsible for what I did.”</p><p>“And you don’t have to. We’ll be here regardless. You couldn’t stop us if you tried.” Despite being a head taller than his mother, he felt himself sinking into the universe of her arms as he had done when he was eight. He wished he could give back to her half of what she had given him.</p><p>“Thank you,” he said simply, the two words filled with a world of things unspoken. She heard them nonetheless, as mothers do.</p><p>“You’re welcome.” She kissed his cheek. “Now, come on. We have sultana rolls to get into the oven before eleven.”</p><p> </p><p>~</p><p> </p><p>Judas stabbed his tenth cigarette into the ashtray, quietly relishing the fact that no one could tell him not to wreck his immortal body with a pack a day. “Really? Who says no to Tim Curry in drag?”</p><p>“Me, the fan who’s watched Rocky Horror at least twenty times.”</p><p>“Including the 2016 version? With Laverne Cox?”</p><p>Simon thought for a second. “No. Including that would make it twenty-five.” He ignored the eyes rolling themselves in his direction. “But I’m finally ready move on to something new.”</p><p>“Something that clearly doesn’t include the hundred films we’ve gone through.”</p><p>“Hundred and four. Including A Hundred And One Dalmatians. Which you insist on being a snob about.”</p><p>“Alright, fine. I’ll make an exception for the animated one.”</p><p>“Nope, it’s Glenn Close or nothing.”</p><p>Judas swore. “Should we drag Jesus into this? Or your dad?”</p><p>Simon grinned at the thought. “I’ve tried to keep him up to date on things, but he’s still a little behind. He was insisting that he definitely does not wear Prada.” He took a swig of coffee and made a face. “Whoops. Wrong mug. How many espresso shots are<em> in</em> this thing?”</p><p>Before he could find out, Uryalh emerged beside him with the air of someone on the verge of a breakdown. “I can’t handle much more of this. I’ve told Afryal already, but they were so busy with the PR nightmare turning the walls green in Hell that they told me to take my anxiety somewhere else.”</p><p>“Told Afryal what?” Simon asked at the same time Judas said “So take it somewhere else.”</p><p>Uryalh transmitted the contents in their head to both their phones, which lit up at the same time. “Ugh, I hate this git.” Simon glared at the video of Marcel Yadin proselytizing to an adoring crowd. At a glance, it was eerily similar to the sight of Jesus some years ago passionately reaching out to the masses, onlookers turned to admirers by his magnetic presence. Except unlike Jesus, this so-called messiah had the uncanny ability to draw the millions of magnates and wealthy dowagers to his cause and his growing church. His own might grew even as he preached the redistribution of power, endlessly absorbing the people’s adulation “like a bloated tick who refuses to die,” as Afryal had mildly put it.</p><p>“Why are you showing us this? Not like I can’t YouTube him myself.”</p><p>“Please don’t give him more views,” Judas said with a grimace.</p><p>In response to Simon’s question, Uryalh sent more moving images to his screen. An ordinary mobile device would have shown the self-proclaimed prophet and his acolytes twirling about in an empty field – nothing more. But Simon’s phone was a specially enhanced piece of tech (that his father almost certainly had not approved). As Marcel’s fiercely ecstatic face turned upward, the eyes lit up like the rising sun and the visage shifted from that of a human man’s to something otherworldly. Something very familiar.</p><p>“Well, well.” Simon hissed. “If it isn’t our old friend Michael.”</p><p>Judas stabbed out his twelfth cigarette stub vehemently, spewing a small spray of ash over the table top. “Is that the angel who – ”</p><p>“Tried to drag the man you love to a painful death? Yup.”</p><p>“I thought you killed them!”</p><p>“Demons can’t kill angels, nitwit.”</p><p>“You’re not just any demon. You’re the spawn of Satan himself.”</p><p>“Which still doesn’t make me an angel, which is the only way I could slay <em>another</em> angel.” He shot another glare at his screen, resisting the urge to throw the phone out the window. “Plus they were a seraph at the time – the highest you can get next to God himself. I was lucky to snatch Jesus’ body from them in time. You’re <em>welcome.”</em></p><p>“Fine. I owe you one. A big one.”</p><p>Simon opened his mouth as Judas cut him off. “Which does not include ‘Batman Forever’.”</p><p>“You know what, fuck you and your arbitrary standards – ”</p><p>“Why are we talking about Batman?” asked a confused Uryalh.</p><p>“Because of a movie night that will take place when we can finally decide on a movie. You’re invited, by the way.”</p><p>“Oh…thank you.”</p><p>“Anyway, back to the Michael-shaped problem. Or Marcel-shaped.”</p><p>“Yes.” Uryalh sighed. “We’ve been taking down websites and videos and social media pages and blocking people left and right. We even brought an entire printing press to a standstill. But all that is no longer enough.”</p><p>“Of course not. Sometimes you need to get physical.” Simon cracked his knuckles.</p><p>“Simon and I can take him.”</p><p>“Judas, you are a <em>human.</em> Don’t even try. You’ll just embarrass me, and your boyfriend.”</p><p>“We can at least dismember him a bit, surely.”</p><p>“Oh, I plan to. I’ll save a limb for you.” Simon’s eyes gleamed in anticipation. “We’re gonna need reinforcements.”</p><p>“And a plan,” said Uryalh. “Your father is getting Mkkall’s input as we speak.”</p><p>“Shit’s that serious, huh?”</p><p>The demon nodded. “Not at the moment, perhaps, but it will be. We’ve yet to discern Michael’s true intentions. For all we know, the whole ‘building a kingdom of God’ mission is only a front. Or the start of something bigger.”</p><p>“Bigger as in ‘We’re all fucked if it happens’?”</p><p>“Those who are not on Heaven’s side, anyway.”</p><p>Judas reached for a thirteenth cigarette. “Well, bugger.”</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>
  <i>"They come to build a wall between us<br/>– We know they won't win."</i>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>On Michael's alias:<br/>Marcel = derived from the Roman 'Marcellus' - 'belonging to Mars', the god of war<br/>Yadin = Hebrew for a wielder of law or judgment; ‘He who will enact justice’</p><p> </p><p>(Simon and Judas haven't found out about the attack on the bakery yet, but they will.)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Reinforcements</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>The rulers of opposing realms have a heated conversation. Judas is afraid (and also horny) for his boyfriend . Simon acquires a powerful weapon, for a price.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>The desert stretched on for miles, sloping dunes cut into sand that formed cream-smooth ripples from afar but scraped skin and eyes raw at the first breath of wind. The lithe giant of a man who walked barefoot upon the shifting sand was not human, however, and stood calmly in the face of the growing sandstorm that was not at all native to the land. It was vaguely human-shaped, for one, albeit in a way that was vaguely disproportionate. Its twisting torso and limbs moved in the manner of one of those brightly coloured inflatable men announcing a used car sale. This would have been amusing were it not for the entity at its core.</p><p>MY CHILD, said the formless, ancient voice. SAMAEL.</p><p>“That is no longer my name. Any more than I am still one of your children.”</p><p>NEEDLESS INSOLENCE, AS ALWAYS. THIS IS WHAT I RECEIVE IN RETURN FOR CIVILITY AND MERCY?</p><p>“You haven’t shown mercy for a long time. Not to me, not to the sons of Egypt in the time of Ramses II; nor the son of Abraham, nor to your own son. Not even to the seraph who served you so faithfully only to be brutally disgraced for a momentary lapse of judgment.” Satan’s voice was almost pleading. “I’m asking you to show it now.”</p><p>I SEEK ONLY TO PRESERVE ORDER. TO KEEP FAITH AND HOPE ALIVE. THAT IS ALL I HAVE EVER SOUGHT.</p><p>“You seek power. At any cost.”</p><p>ONLY FOR THE GREATER GOOD. THAT IS SOMETHING YOU HAVE EVER FAILED TO UNDERSTAND.</p><p>“And what<em> is</em> the greater good? Even now, your servant – in their eagerness to win back your love – amasses might and wealth in their own name and in yours, instead of giving it back to the disempowered. Is this your idea of Heaven on earth?”</p><p>THE ALTERNATIVE IS CHAOS, MY FALLEN ONE. POWER IS A DANGEROUS THING. IT MUST NOT FALL INTO THE WRONG HANDS.</p><p>“I am not so sure if you have given it to the right hands.”</p><p>WOULD YOU RATHER IT WAS IN YOURS?</p><p>“I have enough. I do what I can to keep the balance. As do your angels. Is that not sufficient?” He held out his arms. “Must there be war and bloodshed and pain?”</p><p>OF COURSE NOT. THERE IS ALWAYS A CHANCE FOR SURRENDER.</p><p>“On what terms? My annihilation, and that of my kind?”</p><p>NO, SAMAEL. The voice grew sorrowful then, full of weight meant to instil the guilt he might have felt when he had first been cast out; when he had begged, ached with every shred of his soul, to return to the fold. To be loved and accepted at the price he had been willing to pay then, but never again since.</p><p>I WOULD HAVE YOU COME BACK TO ME. AND I WOULD NOT TURN AWAY YOUR COUNSEL, KNOWING THE TIME YOU SPENT AWAY FROM ME HAS MADE YOU WISER.</p><p>“You say that now. But in the end you will demand blind subservience, as you ever have.”</p><p>YOU HAVE CHANGED MUCH, SAMAEL. IS IT SO HARD TO BELIEVE THE SAME OF YOUR MAKER?</p><p>“Tell me, then, that you would heed my words. Tell me you would let humanity rule itself free of the shackles of divinity. That we will be interventionists, not dictators.”</p><p>HUMANITY MUST NOT BE LEFT TO ITS OWN DEVICES. YOU HAVE SPENT ENOUGH TIME IN ITS MIDST TO KNOW THAT.</p><p>He shook his head, fists already curling before he could stop them. “I know that the presence of a higher power has yet to improve its general state. Murder and thievery and rape happen regardless of who is in charge.”</p><p>AND I HAVE ALLOWED THESE THINGS TO HAPPEN FOR FAR TOO LONG.</p><p>“You<em> allowed </em>them to happen because<em> it was no loss to you!”</em> The fury he thought he had left behind eons ago resurfaced suddenly, pulling him all the way back to the moment the wrath of his Maker had pierced his very soul and splintered something inside him –</p><p>
  <em>He had felt a blinding pain beyond any he had been capable of imagining as his angel-form was torn asunder. When he had finally come to his senses, he was still shaken and every inch of him hurt, but in a different way. He was not an angel anymore; neither was he human, but a strange thing caught between worlds and belonging to neither. The rest of it had faded with the passing of time; he had allowed himself to forget, allowed old wounds to close. He chose only to keep the memory of rain. It had been raining as he fell to earth, and he could feel it fully for the first time. He had risen, weak on his feet but full of defiance, and let the downpour wash over him and remake him anew.</em>
</p><p>– And now he stood before the one who had cast him out, stricken by flashes of recollection he thought had been lost forever. “Cease this endless hypocrisy,” he said heatedly. “Either do something for good, or do nothing; but do not <em>pretend </em>to be a benevolent and merciful Lord when your actions clearly prove otherwise!”</p><p>I AM DOING WHAT I KNOW TO BE BEST. YOU NEED ONLY HAVE FAITH IN ME.</p><p>“I had faith in you before. Look where it got me.” He grew suddenly weary. “I am asking you again. My Maker, whom I have defied time after time, but ultimately acknowledge as the far more powerful of us two. I ask of you – don’t wage this senseless battle.”</p><p>AND AGAIN, I ASK ONLY THAT YOU SURRENDER.</p><p>At his silence, God persisted, in a voice masked by gentleness. SELFISHNESS, MY DEAREST, MY MORNING STAR. YOUR PRIDE WILL NOT LET YOU COME BACK TO ME.</p><p>“I cannot – will not – risk it without guarantee that you will keep your word. I have a duty to my realm as much as you do yours.</p><p>YOU WILL DO WHAT YOU THINK IS RIGHT, MY CHILD. AS YOU ALWAYS HAVE.</p><p>“You’re <em>damned right</em> I will.”</p><p> </p><p>~</p><p> </p><p>Judas woke to find Jesus perched at the stretch of kitchen counter that doubled up as their dining table, poking listlessly at a bowl of cereal he did not seem intent on actually spooning into his mouth. He knew immediately that all was not right: Jesus did not like cereal. (They had a box of it handy for when Judas was alone and couldn’t be arsed to rummage around the kitchen.) If he wanted a quick breakfast, he would have made himself a basic sandwich from the leftover bread they always had lying around.</p><p>“You’re up late.”</p><p>“My mom said she’d take the first bit of the morning and insisted I get some rest.” A tired shrug as he rubbed at his eyes. “She shouldn’t have bothered. I was awake by six.”</p><p>“Yeah, I felt you trying not to toss.” The brief blissful period of undisturbed sleep – the soft weight of Jesus’ head on his shoulder, unmoving till dawn – appeared to have evaporated. He felt the burn of anger return and suddenly needed to punch someone bloody. Misreading his frown, Jesus said: “Sorry if I disturbed you.”</p><p>“That’s not important. Are you getting those stupid texts again?”</p><p>He shook his head, but refused to say more. Typical of him, and frustrating to no end. He shoved the half-finished bowl aside and got up for a second coffee. “I’ll probably leave in an hour.”</p><p>
  <em>“Don’t.”</em>
</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“Don’t go to the bakery. At least for a week.”</p><p>“Why – ?”</p><p>“You’re just making yourself an easy target.”</p><p>Jesus stared at him as realisation dawned in his eyes and his jaw tightened. “Simon told you about the paint job.” He shook his head. “My mom must have mentioned it to him.”</p><p>“And you didn’t think to tell me yourself? After all this time?” His voice came out sharper than intended.</p><p>“I knew you’d try to stop me going anywhere.”</p><p>“Did you become Simon and lose your self-preservation instincts overnight?”</p><p>“Look, I can’t…” He sighed deeply. “I can’t look like I’ve given up. Like we’re already defeated. That’s all the signal they need to move in for the kill.”</p><p>“You ARE the kill, you idiot. You might as well offer yourself up on a plate, with seasoning on the side!”</p><p>Jesus’ eyes flickered with acknowledgment of the facts. But Judas could tell when he was dead set on going his way regardless. The man had a sort of quiet stubbornness that could drive one up the wall at times. In response to Judas’ aggression, he fell back into silence as he finished his coffee and then disappeared to shower without a word.</p><p>Judas continued fuming, full of restless rage he didn’t know what to do with, pacing and smoking and eating peckishly by turns until his lover re-emerged. The scent of eucalyptus shampoo clinging to the freshly washed hair softened his anger. He reached out to grab Jesus’ hand as the latter passed by.</p><p>“At least let me drive you there.”</p><p>Jesus hesitated. The stubborn look melted away, revealing one of vulnerable, aching need. Then he was closing the distance and clinging to Judas’ back, head leaning on his shoulder. The weight of his body was warm with unspoken need and the boundless love that made them inseparable.</p><p>“Don’t you dare fucking die again,” said Judas. “Or I’ll throw myself off a building this time and make sure I’m too smashed up to come back.”</p><p>“Don’t say things like that.” Jesus’ breath was soft against his neck.</p><p>“Why not? You’ll do what you want anyway.” He reached behind him to bury his fingers in the mop of wavy hair. A hand reached for his, moving downward to trace the faint raised lines that marked the wounds he had made in his wrists on the day he had taken his own life. Jesus himself carried the scar of a fatal wound on his chest. Every other cut and bruise they suffered healed normally, and in fact more rapidly than ordinary human flesh; but the mark of death never truly left them. It seemed to be some ancient law of the universe that even the one who had brought them back to life could not explain.</p><p>“I love you.” The whispered declaration was followed by a kiss on the back of Judas’ neck. It sent a tingle through his spine, through his entire body, making him burn with need. He turned around and pressed their bodies together, closing every little gap between them as he kissed Jesus roughly in a way that drew a small helpless moan from the other when they parted for breath. The sound sent blood rushing both to his head and his loins. He slid his hands beneath the fresh clothes to savour the warming skin beneath. “You’ll have to take another bath after I’m done with you,” he growled.</p><p>“Please don’t…mmm. I’m going to be late.” Yet he clung on like a limpet to a rock, the hardness of his arousal pressed against Judas’ own. Judas lifted him onto the barstool chair he had been sitting on and braced himself against the counter edge as Jesus’ thighs parted around him. They ground and thrust in an urgent rhythm, mindless in their need, until Jesus cried out his release and Judas muffled his own by pressing his mouth against the bared neck, leaving a reddish mark behind.</p><p>“Great,” Jesus gasped with a soft laugh. “Now I’ll have to change my underwear.”</p><p>The lingering heat simmered pleasantly between them in the car all the way to their destination, like something from a languid summery day. The sort that felt light years away from the threat of vengeful angels and battles for power and the long shadow of destiny and death.</p><p>Mary was at the door to greet them, having seen Judas’ car from the window. He kissed Jesus briefly. “I’ll come by later,” he said, then added: “Call me if…you know…if anything happens.”</p><p>“If the sourdough comes out wrong, you’ll be the first to hear of it,” came the solemn promise, followed by a grin. Judas grabbed his behind in retaliation. “Not in front of my mom!” he hissed, biting back a giggle. By the time his boyfriend left, he was blushing like a teenager and had to avoid his mother’s gaze as he entered.</p><p>The first thing she said to him was somewhat unexpected. “Did you feel anything when you came in?”</p><p>“Did I what?”</p><p>“The spell, or cantrip, whatever it’s called. Your dad was just here. He put it in place for your protection. I told him to do the same for your house.”</p><p>“Oh.” So the tingling sensation had been more than the memory of Judas’ hands on his ass. “How does it work?”</p><p>“He cast some kind of invisible barrier all around the shop. Which basically means it extends all around the building. It’s supposed to repel ‘dangerous otherworldly beings’ – I take that to mean angels and the like. You didn’t make enemies of any demons, did you?”</p><p>He smiled. “Simon has more enemies in Hell than anyone. I’m pretty sure he’s pissed most of them off at some point or another.”</p><p>“You’re damn right I have.” His stepbrother appeared with a gunpowder-scented snap. He had a habit of turning up suddenly with no notice whatsoever, which had caused Jesus no little annoyance until about a year ago. Berating Simon for such things, he had learned, was an exercise in pointlessness, as every demon in Hell could have told him. The only human he knew who had the stamina for it was his boyfriend.</p><p>“You’ll never guess what I just found,” he announced proudly just as Jesus noticed the bloodstained rips in his t-shirt. So did his mother. The flesh beneath, though, was thankfully intact.</p><p>“What happened to you?” she asked, wide-eyed.</p><p>Beaming widely, he told them.</p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>- SIX HOURS AGO -</strong>
</p><p>Simon was not used to meeting dead end after dead end. He had always thought of himself as the most persistent creature he knew – knowing only now that he had never truly been tested before.</p><p>The senders of the anonymous threats and the writers of inflammatory content Afryal’s team had done a good job of erasing all traces of had turned out to be ghosts. The angelic forces fronted by the New Kingdom fanatics were using their human puppets well, driving their target into hiding to make way for the new saviour and his rebranding campaign for their Heavenly Host. Simon almost admired their competence. But any respect for the enemy was overwhelmed with thirst for retribution. He longed with every fibre of his unnatural being to beat <em>someone </em>to a pulp. He would throw himself at the godly figure known as Marcel Yadin with knives out if he thought it would do more than a scrap of damage. Jrbral reported that the man was guarded by a small army of loyal devotees almost every minute of his waking existence – and angels, Simon knew, never slept.</p><p>Not that the human guards were much of an obstacle in themselves. But their warning was all Michael would need to call on more otherworldly reinforcements. And there was no doubt that, despite their lowly status, God himself was behind their every move on the great chessboard.</p><p>Telling Simon to lie low and wait was like telling water not to be wet. And so, in his quest for <em>some </em>kind of advantage over their Heavenly foes, he found himself sneaking through the secret passageways of Hell. There were any number of them, for Hell had a slightly amorphous, ever-shifting quality, and only those born from it could navigate its paths without becoming hopelessly lost. He had discovered three of them so far. One had recently been sealed off by his father or a diligent minion. Still, he knew that one of the remaining two led – after a long winding traipse – to the hidden chamber that held a collection of very off-limits reading material. Off limits to all but the Ruler of Hell, that is.</p><p>He had anticipated a gauntlet or two. His father was not stupid. But neither did he discourage the truly determined from seeking knowledge through wit and effort.</p><p>The first obstacle was straightforward enough: a huge curved blade swinging like a pendulum gone mad, its fast-slow rhythm utterly unpredictable. He tested a small destructive spell on it and found the magic deflected immediately. “Alright, no cheating then,” he muttered. Except cheating, in Hell, was a loose concept at best. Passing this test practically required a cheater’s mindset. And it seemed almost made for someone of Simon’s agility. Rather than attempting to dodge the deadly blows, he hopped onto the rod attached to the blade and landed on the other side, scuttling away quickly in case it decided to come after him – but not so quickly that he landed on the gnashing, grinding wheels below the floor that parted mere inches from his feet.</p><p>“Seriously, dad?” <em>Does he get his ideas from video game clichés? </em>“Feels like fucking Tomb Raider in here.” He snapped his fingers to conjure a swinging rope, but found once again that magic was useless here. The wheels meant to turn intruders into a juicy pulp continued to grind in their depths, and the tiles kept shifting beneath his feet, so he was forced to shuffle about while thinking out loud.</p><p>“I can’t jump that far. Can’t use my feet. Or legs. So the answer lies in something that is…not feet.” <em>Hands, then?</em> He set about sliding his palms along the walls – lightly, in case there were spikes waiting. One of the bricks seemed loose. He tapped it lightly, then harder, then (when he was sure it wasn’t going to take his fingers off) gave it a push.</p><p>There was a grating sound as the wheels ground to a halt and the tiles stopped shifting so he could walk the precariously narrow space until he was safe on solid ground. ‘Safe’ being a subjective description around here. He proceeded with caution until he met with an invisible wall, stubbing his nose against its cold hard surface.</p><p>“Alright, show yourself,” he said. As if hearing his words, the barrier shifted and materialised into an oddly realistic facsimile of what looked like the counter of an ice cream shop. One that looked very familiar. Through the glass display he saw various flavours in their chilled metal vessels. A simulation of a server in the form of a smiling young woman greeted him, then asked: “What will you be having today?”</p><p>Simon smiled back then, knowing that Satan had anticipated he would get this far. It was a question no one else could have answered. He closed his eyes and recalled a peaceful day out with his dad that had been disrupted by bad news from the Crisis department. When he opened them, the woman was patiently waiting with her programmed smile. “What’ll it be?”</p><p>“One macadamia swirl, and one lime-and-mint.”</p><p>The woman stepped back and disappeared along with the illusory ice cream counter, leaving only a blank stone wall. Simon walked slowly into it and felt the stone dissolve around him, hard particles dissolving or shifting, until he passed through into a narrow high-ceilinged chamber lined almost wall to wall with ancient-looking tomes. He read each small shelf plaque carefully before reaching for their contents. He didn’t know <em>exactly</em> what he was looking for, but it involved portals somehow. Summoning things that were not meant to be summoned…except in cases of emergency….</p><p>Something made a clicking, guttural sound – like that of a man choking on his own blood. Simon let his sharp ears guide him until he found the source. He fished one of his special Swiss army knives from one of his many pockets and extended from it a slim antenna-like rod, which he used to gently prod at the row of books from which the sounds were coming from. The whole shelf looked surprisingly nondescript; of all the intimidating collections in the room, this section looked like it belonged in any aging library on earth. But appearances were deceiving. The metal rod began quivering madly as soon as it hit one of the books…upon which the faded grey-green fabric spine melted away to reveal its true self: a large leather tome, the colour of dried blood, its spine bound with gold in an intricate pattern. It trembled subtly like a huge beast straining at its leash.</p><p>When he was sure it wasn’t going to bite, he stroked its spine, then pulled it out bit by bit until he finally held it in his hands. It was incredibly heavy and its cover felt like human skin. This book was older than most humans and even demons could imagine. He knew without being told that he was defying some ancient, inviolable law just by holding it.</p><p>With a pounding heart, he lifted the cover –</p><p>There was a high-pitched metallic sound as several barbed whip-like tendrils shot out from the depths of the yellowed pages and buried themselves in his chest and guts. “Ah, fuck,” he managed to groan before a fifth tendril slit his throat and spilt his blood all over the papyrus. He collapsed where he stood, the weighty book landing beside him with a great thump. After twitching and heaving with pain unlike any he had ever felt before, he drew in a last choked breath before falling still.</p><p>*</p><p> </p><p>“What do you mean, you <em>died?”</em> asked Jesus.</p><p>“Listen, I don’t claim to completely know how my body works. I’m the first of my kind, remember. I don’t think Dad entirely knew what he was doing when he made me.”</p><p>Mary finished wrapping a batch of ginger-and-clove biscuits. “And how <em>did </em>you come back to life?”</p><p>“I honestly don’t know. I just…did.”</p><p> </p><p>*</p><p>He awoke with a great gasp of air, a hand flying to his throat to feel if his windpipe had mended itself. “That was heavy,” he croaked.</p><p>A glance downward told him his innards were still a mess. He grimaced at the gory sight and lay back, eyes wandering the ceiling, knowing the pain was intense but fleeting. It was still enough to make him curse roundly as he stared at the ceiling and noticed for the first time the fresco adorning the curved vaulted panels. (Nearly all the architecture was decorative; nothing in this place needed structures like vaulting, which was there entirely on his father’s whims and love for random bits of human aesthetics. There were days when whole sections of Hell sported a bizarre mashup of East Asian motifs and rococo scrollwork in painful Pop art colours. You learnt to deal with it after a while.) The figures were disturbingly life-like in their fleshliness and their haunted eyes that implied their souls were trapped in the pages of some of these grimoires. He counted himself lucky to not be among them.</p><p>When his skin and innards were intact again, he approached the open book cautiously and brushed a page with his fingertips. The blood that had split so copiously onto it was missing – absorbed by the pages, perhaps, or the binding he now had no doubt was indeed made of someone’s skin.</p><p>The text was written in a language that no longer existed. But as Simon squinted at it long enough, he realised the words were in his head, filling him with knowledge that transcended whatever tongue it had first been transcribed in. “Shit,” he whispered, eyes gleaming gleefully.</p><p>The grimoire, he knew now, required the sacrifice of life and blood. By dying and spilling his all over the pages, he had effectively unlocked its secrets – and was now, along with his father, its rightful owner.</p><p>“Alright then; let’s see what you can do.” First of all, he needed to be able to walk out without lugging a conspicuously large and dangerous-looking tome about. Satan might begrudgingly permit him access to the library, but he doubted he was allowed to check anything out. He willed the book to shrink; and indeed, it acknowledged his will as its new master, growing smaller and smaller until it was the size of a wallet. Bursting with triumph, he tucked it into his pocket and waked out in a rather jauntier manner than he had entered, nearly falling into the pit of spiked wheels on his way.</p><p>He was glad he decided to take a different route out so that his appearance when he bumped into Satan was a little less suspicious. And he’d had the presence of mind to erase the traces of blood from his previously ravaged flesh, although he had forgotten about the ruined t-shirt. Satan’s eyes were sharp as always.</p><p>“And what have you been up to?”</p><p>“Trouble,” he replied truthfully. His father nodded, expecting no less from his offspring on any given day.</p><p>“I have something important to pass to your brother,” he said, holding out something small and gleaming. “Do me a favour and see that it gets to him. With absolutely no delay.”</p><p>*</p><p> </p><p>Simon dropped the item into Jesus’ hand. The latter stared down at it, eyes widening at memories he would rather have left unstirred. “Why would he want me to have this?”</p><p>“He said it might protect you. That it binds us by blood and apparently that means something. Dad is weird sometimes. Oh, he thinks it might work best if you wear it close to your body.”</p><p>Jesus frowned at the bullet attached to the long silver chain before reluctantly putting it around his neck, feeling the cold metal slide against his skin. He tensed at its touch, half expecting to be visited by the nightmare of the two days he had spent beaten and starved before being dragged to his death. But those memories existed only in his head. The small cylindrical object – its gleaming surface so pristine he could have sworn it had never been used – rested almost exactly against the scar of the wound it had made.</p><p>“Who knows,” said Simon as he dug out what looked like a reddish brown leather wallet with worn ornate clasps. “It might come in handy. I know that Dad is seldom wrong about these things.”</p><p>Mary’s warm, professional smile as she bid farewell to a customer who had come in for two packs of biscuits vanished when she turned to see Simon wielding the full-sized book, eager to show it off to his sibling. “I won’t have that thing in here,” she told him sharply. “Do you want to set the place on fire? Put it away.”</p><p>“Yes, Mom.” The grimoire shrank back into a wallet, and Jesus tried to hide his disappointment; he <em>was</em> terribly curious to peer inside such a dangerously powerful book. As if sensing this, Simon winked at him and whispered, out of Mary’s earshot: “Come to my place later tonight.”</p><p>“I don’t know if Mom will approve.”</p><p>“Tell her we’re spending quality time together, as brothers should.”</p><p>“Well…” Jesus bit back a grin. “Alright.”</p><p>Simon returned the grin. In a louder voice, he asked: “Where are my doughnuts, by the way?”</p><p>The tray pushed in his direction bore beautiful rows of golden brown pastries glistening with fine sugar crystals. As soon as he bit into one, he frowned. “They’re a bit off, aren’t they?”</p><p>“No. They’re perfect. I tried one myself.”</p><p>“Yes, I mean…they’re not the <em>usual.</em>”</p><p>Jesus groaned, knowing full well what he meant. “We run a <em>bakery.</em> I am not making those rubbish chewy things you insist are proper doughnuts!<em> These</em> are proper doughnuts. If you want to eat garbage, I can point you to five places where you can get it.”</p><p>Simon’s smile widened as he wiped sugar off his chin. “But where’s the joy in that when I can have my dearest brother make them?”</p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I wanted to have Gabriel show up in this chapter, but there wasn't room for them. They'll be in the next one though.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. The Price of Knowledge</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>The Half-Moon Market opens and reveals its secrets, including a sinister plot. The siblings accidentally summon a creature of hell from a stolen grimoire.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>The Half-Moon Market – sometimes known as The Temple, The Fair, or simply The Gathering – was a liminal realm woven from the collective consciousness and will of the denizens of Heaven and Hell. Once every ninety years, on the night of the first waxing moon, angels and demons met to freely and lawfully fraternise on this common ground. There were rules in place, of course. No human or earthly entity was allowed entry (ironic, considering the location). No disguises were permitted – all who crossed the threshold would be restored to their full form regardless of their chosen appearance elsewhere. No harm may befall anyone while they were within Market grounds. No trading of physical goods or material objects were allowed. In this dimension of ever-shifting shadows and silvery light, information was the most valuable currency.</p><p>There were any number of entryways for the initiated: through a now-defunct trade hub beneath a bridge in Bangkok, the left arch of the Hien Nhon gate in the old Huế citadel, an invisible passage through the Mandela House in Soweto, a door in an art gallery on Rue Royale that opened only to the non-human visitor. Gabriel entered through a non-existent back door of a shoe shop in Melbourne and felt a rush of bittersweet appreciation for the moonlit microcosm unfolding from nothingness before their eyes. This would be their last night in the Market. With the fading of their last ties to Heaven, their mortal form would become their permanent one and bar them from this world of angels and demons thereafter.</p><p>Crossing over revealed that there was not much left of their angel form – they had become insubstantial, translucent in patches, not quite <em>there.</em> But they soon found it suited them; with few friends in either world, they were most comfortable blending in with shadow and moonbeam, becoming one with the gossamer substance pervading so much of the Market. Beneath a spiralling staircase leading to nowhere was a group of demons and angels of various ranks having martinis. Half-hidden behind a pane of smoky glass was Hell’s Arch Messenger Jrbral whispering frantically to a cherub, no doubt exchanging insider information that could not be exchanged anywhere else without either or both parties suffering severe consequences. For all of Heaven and Hell’s eternal rivalry, such exchanges happened nonetheless. And neither of their respective Rulers had had reason to intervene. Although there were whispers that such liberties were coming to an end. A great change was upon them, for better or for worse.</p><p>As they slid from corner to corner, noticed only by the sharpest eyes (and most angels had a frankly excessive amount of eyes), Gabriel felt a faint pulsating warmth that grew stronger as he drew closer to its source. Such light could only come from a seraph. A powerful one at that. Sure enough, there was Khamuel: Heaven’s new warlord, leading the charge in Michael’s place. Gabriel had known them when they were among the ophanim as an overseer of souls before their relentlessly ambitious nature catapulted them into the sphere of the Dominions and beyond. They were speaking in a low, barely audible tone to the fearsome-looking Mkkall – Hell’s fiery-tongued General with teeth like knives and eyes like glowing embers. Mkkall was what demons looked like in illustrations made by people who believed Hell was on fire all the time, and who had clearly never seen Satan’s collection of oddly shaped never-melting ice sculptures (which he had taken a strange liking to after seeing one at a wedding party).</p><p>Gabriel would have passed them by, had they not heard the word “surrender”. For the past several hours, nearly all anyone could talk about was the coming War. Naturally, the two generals of Heaven and Hell drew quite a bit of attention, and there was not a passing angel or demon who did not attempt to eavesdrop until Khamuel or Mkkall fixed a burning gaze on them, causing them to slide away discreetly and respectfully.</p><p>But in this congregation of powerful otherworldly beings, Gabriel was part of the dark. A pale imitation of the angel they once were. And so, amid the flow of other more threatening entities, they went undetected by the two towering chieftains.</p><p>“And what are your Lord’s terms?” Mkkall was saying.</p><p>“A fair exchange,” came the reply. “The life of a son for our surrender. The annihilation of the Adversary.”</p><p>The glowing eyes dimmed. “You are asking the unthinkable.”</p><p>“I am asking that you think on it.” Khamuel made a magnanimous gesture. “These are His terms. And you are in the position to fulfil them, for the good of us all.”</p><p>“To defy my creator, and shake the very foundations of Hell itself?”</p><p>“Or perhaps…rule it.” Khamuel leaned close. “I know ambition when I see it, General. And greatness. It is time you embraced yours.”</p><p>“I do embrace it, seraph. I intend to use it to win, with or without surrender.”</p><p>“And what <em>will</em> you win for yourself? Does the lord of sinners reward his minions well?” The angel did not quite smile, but emanated an unsettling smugness. “Do you not resent, for all your great achievements, being inferior in rank to the two brats he now calls his children?”</p><p>“Unlike the denizens of Heaven, demons are not obsessed with rank and hierarchy,” Mkkall replied. But there was the faintest flicker of doubt, and of something else. As if Khamuel had stirred something dormant within them. Something they had found worrying enough to let lie – until now.</p><p>“These children – these unworthy heirs to the throne – are the only thing standing in your way. Remember that.”</p><p>As Mkkall glared in response, Khamuel followed this pronouncement with their next message of import. “On the morrow, my Lord will reclaim his own Chosen through the hands of his servants. You need only see to the other one.”</p><p>At this statement Gabriel flickered in panic, drawing the attention of the two. Before their eyes could catch them, they disappeared into the shifting shadows cast by the light of the waxing moon, shaken and burdened with the weight of unwanted knowledge.</p><p> </p><p>~</p><p> </p><p>Some hours before Gabriel entered the Market for the last time in their life, Simon and his stepbrother were doing what was only expected of the children of Satan: playing with fire. In a manner of speaking, anyway.</p><p>“This may be the most irresponsible thing I’ve done in my life,” Jesus said in the tone of someone who had only ever done responsible things in life and was just making up for it now.</p><p>“Good. It’s about time.” Simon laid the book carefully on the floor between them. There had been an offensively orange rug in the spot that they’d decided to remove for safety’s sake. In fact, all flammable and fragile furniture had been pushed back a good distance, leaving an empty radius all around them. “Let’s unbox this baby.”</p><p>“It won’t try to kill you a second time, will it?"</p><p>“Don’t think so. It only demands a sacrifice when someone is attempting to become its new master.”</p><p>“I hope it doesn’t misunderstand my being here, then.” Jesus scuttled back a foot or so.</p><p>“Do you think I went to the trouble of saving your life to let a book kill you?” Simon snorted. “Anyway, I already cast a protective charm according to the instructions. It has to obey express orders not to murder or injure anyone. Or tear anything apart. Or make things melt, or explode.”</p><p>“And yet you still removed that ugly rug.”</p><p>Simon shrugged. “Never hurts to play safe.” At Jesus’ stare of disbelief, he added: “Yes, I said that. It’s called wisdom, it comes with age.”</p><p>Very carefully, he pried the cover open. When nothing happened, he started turning the pages two or three at a time, pausing to marvel at interestingly detailed illustrations. “Huh. This is useful if you ever want to make a scarf from your own intestines.”</p><p>He flipped to the next page. “This guy looks like an internet troll. Maybe there’s a spell to stab people every time they type something nasty in the comments section.”</p><p>Jesus started to say something, then cut himself off, but not before Simon’s quick eyes caught it. “They aren’t still bothering you, are they?”</p><p>“No.”</p><p>“You’re a shitty liar, you know that.” Jesus heard the fierce concern beneath his insult and smiled. “They’ve slowed to a trickle. Maybe they’re running out of ideas.”</p><p>“Listen, I tracked those numbers down and harassed Afryal for a week straight. Most of them aren’t even real people. Just so you know.” Simon reached over to give his hand a quick squeeze.</p><p>“I guessed as much. I’m sorry for Afryal, though.”</p><p>“I’m not allowed to speak to them or so much as breathe in their direction for a while.”</p><p>“As if that’ll stop you.”</p><p>“I know, right?” Simon perused a few more sections before skipping to the next chapter, which featured even more vivid anatomical depictions.</p><p>“Are those five people all…”</p><p>“Sucking each other off? Looks like it.” They tilted their heads to study the diagram from different angles, wondering if it was possible to achieve such a position in real life. A sudden stiff wind from nowhere sent the pages flying until it landed on a section full of nothing but words in one of the arcane languages filling the tome. Jesus realized too late that they had both failed to keep the safe distance they had initially maintained. He drew back just in time, but not his brother. “Simon! Get back!”</p><p>But Simon was already going rigid. His spine snapped straight up as a susurrus of ancient voices like the rubbing of dry husks filled the air and flowed right through his stiffened limbs, spilling out of his mouth so that he spoke in their tongue with his own. His skin paled to an unnatural hue and his eyeballs disappeared.</p><p>“Simon??” Jesus leapt up and went to his side, trying to tug him away before hissing in pain; it was like trying to grip a handful of burning coals. Even his clothes were searing hot. And he was immovable, besides; he might was well try to pull a tree from the ground. The grimoire held him fast in its grip. Beneath them, the floor had started to tremble. Simon was speaking with ever greater intensity, the whispers turned to a harsh chanting in a chorus of sinister voices. “<em>Simon!</em> <em>Can you hear me?</em>” Jesus reached for the book to close it, but couldn’t even get near without being repelled by a blast of heat. It was like trying to walk into a furnace.</p><p>He looked around frantically before his eyes fell on the ugly orange rug they had cast aside earlier. He grabbed it and threw it on the open book. It promptly burst into flames.</p><p>The voices in the air died down, and the mysterious wind disappeared as abruptly as it had come. Simon blinked, returning to himself.</p><p>“Whoa. What happened there?”</p><p>Jesus dropped to his knees, breathless with relief. “You were…You looked like you were being…possessed. There were strange voices coming out of your mouth. And you were burning up. I was afraid you’d just combust.”</p><p>“Thanks for saving my ass. How’d you do it?”</p><p>“Uhm. I threw your rug on the book.”</p><p>“Oh. I liked that rug.” He stretched tentatively to ensure his limbs were still intact, wiping a small trickle of blood from his nose. “That’s interesting.”</p><p>“<em>Interesting</em> doesn’t begin to describe – ” That was when Jesus realised Simon was referring to the dark little lump unfolding from amidst the dying flames and the blackened remains of the rug.</p><p>“Ooh shit. Did we just…summon something? Is it an imp?” Imps summoned from realms unknown were occasionally used by demons as familiars and assistants for menial tasks in the past, but were largely discouraged for their tendency to wreak unmitigated havoc of the kind even Hell had a low tolerance for. Satan had recently instated a strict no-imp policy all throughout the realm. Which made it all the more thrilling for Simon to have his hands on one.</p><p>“You’re smiling like that’s a good thing.”</p><p>“Well, at least I wasn’t gangbanged by a book for nothing.”</p><p>“And how do we put it <em>back?”</em></p><p>“Who says we’re putting it back?” Simon reached out to retrieve what looked vaguely like a black guinea pig that was still taking shape. “Anyway, it’s not an imp. Or I’d have lost a finger already.”</p><p>“It<em> is</em> rather cute, I guess.” Jesus still kept a sensible distance.</p><p>“It does, doesn’t it? Looks kind of like a bunny now.”</p><p>“Bunny?”</p><p>The creature tilted its head at the word. It turned out not to be a rabbit after all, but a small pointy-eared dog. As they stared intently, it continued expanding and unfolding its limbs until it stood on Simon’s lap and started growling at the nearest offending object, which was a stray throw pillow. It was fat, ferocious, and looked utterly full of itself.</p><p>“Oh cool, I think we summoned a hellhound!”</p><p>“It looks more like a large chihuahua.”</p><p>“Nope; this is just her bound form. Her full form is about this tall.” Simon indicated a height roughly three heads above his own.</p><p>“Oh. It’s a girl?”</p><p>“Yup, I looked.”</p><p>He laid the hell-spawned chihuahua on the floor and lightly kicked the throw pillow in her direction. The dog jumped on it immediately and tore it apart, her eyes glowing a bright reddish gold until the cushion had been reduced to an unrecognisable scattering of down and fabric. Simon grinned at being proven right.</p><p>“Alright…so…what do we do with her?” Jesus stepped back cautiously and gazed down at the creature, who gazed right back with a wag of her tail. “I assume hell hounds don’t need deworming or anything.”</p><p>“Nope. Good news, they don’t poop either.”</p><p>“What do they eat?”</p><p>“Anything they can get their teeth on.” Simon conjured a small raw steak and snapped his fingers to get her attention. “Here, girl. Here. This is food. You want food, right?” The demon chihuahua cocked her head at him, but then looked back at Jesus. She kept doing that until Simon handed him the steak. “You give it to her.”</p><p>“Why me?”</p><p>“She seems to like you.”</p><p>Jesus took the bloody piece of meat gingerly and threw it to her. She jumped on it as eagerly as she had on the pillow, albeit with far less growling and more eager wagging. She<em> was</em> quite adorable, he had to admit, if you looked past the fact that she was perpetually ready to bite someone’s leg off. When Simon made the mistake of crouching a little too near her, she turned her head with lightning speed and nearly chomped off his nose.</p><p>“No – down!” Jesus exclaimed. Immediately she ceased her snarling and lay low obediently, resuming her feast in peace.</p><p>“Interesting, how she answers to you.” Simon looked at her thoughtfully. “Did you name her?”</p><p>“Did you hear me name her? No.”</p><p>“What did you say when she was first formed?”</p><p>“I…I don’t know.” He frowned. “We were thinking she might be an imp, but she turned out not to be. And then you said she looked like a…. Oh, <em>great.”</em></p><p>Simon sniggered as Jesus sighed. “Bunny.”</p><p>The dog looked up at him and twitched her tail happily.</p><p> </p><p>~</p><p> </p><p>After searching for a demon who could most effectively act on what he had to convey, Gabriel found the Arch Messsenger hovering at the edge of one of the Market’s many shifting entrances and exits. The stoic Jrbral had greeted them cordially as they greeted everyone. Gabriel bothered with no such niceties. “Simon – Satan’s own son – is in trouble,” they blurted.</p><p>“You want to keep your voice down, angel. There are always those who are waiting to use such incendiary information against you. Against us.”</p><p>“Yes; it was careless of me.” Gabriel lowered their words to a near-whisper.</p><p>“So it is true; you have indeed reneged on God and Heaven. You are an outcast.”</p><p>“One of the fallen, yes. And I’m here to tell you that Simon, and possibly Jesus, is in grave danger.”</p><p>Jrbral fixed them with amber eyes that saw through all. “From whom did you hear this news?”</p><p>“From Khamuel, God’s new warmonger. And from…” Gabriel hesitated. “From one of your own. General Mkkall.”</p><p>The demon’s eyes narrowed. “I see no reason for you to make such accusations. Which means you must speak the truth. Unless, of course, you are working your way back into Heaven’s good graces…”</p><p>The fallen angel spread out their hands. “Look at me. It is too late. This will be my last time here. In a decade or so, I will be nearly completely mortal. I’m already fading.” They stared hard at Jrbral. “You can trust my honesty, or damn your creator’s child by your inaction.”</p><p>“And how does Khamuel – and Mkkall – intend to execute this plan?”</p><p>“I do not know if Khamuel succeeded in swaying your general. I know only that they, or one of their emissaries, will act as soon as tomorrow. Their exact words were: ‘my Lord will reclaim his own Chosen through the hands of his servants. You need only see to the other one.’ And by ‘other one’ they can only mean Simon.”</p><p>“Simon is all but indestructible.”</p><p>“Not if his enemy has the element of surprise.” The angel’s already translucent visage flickered with anxiety. “If the enemy comes from within.”</p><p>“You may be right. And if you’re not…even as a mere proposal, it is an alarming one.” Jrbral’s shoulder ridges sharpened into spikes. A sign of aggression, or agitation. “I will convey this news to my lord immediately.” They dipped their head in a bow of thanks. “Your warning will not go unappreciated.”</p><p>Gabriel nodded as the archdemon disappeared through the nearest exit. They wondered if they too should leave. The Market – so often thick with rumours and secret meetings and the undercurrent of covert exchanges – had tonight lost some of its thrill, its glamour. Suddenly all they could see were dishonest faces and condescending glances. The few angels who laid eyes on him did not deign to greet him; as for the demons, most kept a polite distance, still unsure of their status as an in-betweener whose loyalties might yet lie with their former brethren. Once the Market had been a place of sweetness and song as well as subterfuge. Once, there had been music in the air, from strains of angelic singing to demons playing lively tunes on violins made of bone and blood-magic. There had been carnivalesque camaraderie amidst the secrecy. But things were changing now. And perhaps they were one of the few destined to be left behind as what they used to know and cherish were swept away with the passing of time.</p><p>In the end, they left long before daybreak. Gabriel might barely be an angel anymore. But tonight, they had one more role to play as messenger.</p><p> </p><p>~</p><p> </p><p>“I am not getting a dog.”</p><p>“Maybe you’ve yet to register the fact that you already <em>did.</em>”</p><p>“And whose fault is that?”</p><p>“Yours, for naming her.”</p><p>Jesus glared indignantly. “<em>You</em> were the one who – I never – ” Bunny sat on his foot and looked up at him with golden-brown eyes. He sighed and picked her up. “I don’t know if Judas will take to her. Adopting a pet is a commitment.”</p><p>“We could ask Mom if she’d be keen on having her. I’m sure she could use the company. And look, Bunny’s not exactly high maintenance. I know hellhounds. They’ll eat anything, they’ll sleep anywhere; and like I said, they don’t even shit or piss.”</p><p>“She won’t suddenly become a full giant and destroy the house, will she?”</p><p>“Oh. Well, that’s always been a bit…unpredictable.” At his brother’s frown, he added: “They tend to only take on their full form in Hell. Or when the one they’ve bonded to is in danger.”</p><p>“I don’t know. I guess it’s worth a shot.” Jesus cradled the warm weight in his arms, telling himself not to get attached to the way Bunny was already snuggling into the crook of his elbow. “I’ll need to keep her for tonight though. Mom will be long asleep by now, and I’m not waking her with a surprise dog that came from a book.”</p><p>“It does sound like the kind of news best delivered at a more sensible hour.”</p><p>“Not that there’s anything sensible about what we’ve just done."</p><p>Simon shrugged. “Knowledge that comes with power comes at a risk. That’s what Dad always says.”</p><p>There was a whisper in the air like a rustle of silk as a dark-skinned androgynous youth appeared beside them. “Gabriel!” Jesus smiled as the miniature hellhound barked in what her idea of a friendly greeting. “I haven’t seen you in a while.”</p><p>“Yes. I see you’ve gotten a dog.”</p><p>“Uhm, she’s not really mine – ”</p><p>“Why the sour face?” Simon asked, cheerfully blunt as always.</p><p>Gabriel’s already sombre expression turned grim. “I’ve come to tell you that you’re in danger. Both of you.”</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“You need to go into hiding if you want to live, for at least two days or more. It happens tomorrow.”</p><p>“<em>What </em>happens tomorrow?” Jesus asked.</p><p>Gabriel turned to him with eyes full of doom. “Your abduction. And Simon’s execution.”</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Bunny's appearance and personality is taken almost directly from my brother's pet chihuahua, at least in her heyday (her health is failing and she may not last the year, but this is my weird way of immortalising her as a fiercely loyal demon dog)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. Judgment Day</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Bunny is introduced to the rest of the family. A kidnapping happens. God's new plan comes closer to fruition.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>Judas did not believe in stating the obvious, but some things simply could not go unremarked upon. Things like the small pointy-eared creature standing in the way of his morning coffee who returned his stare with a low growl and a flash of teeth.</p><p>“There’s a chihuahua in the kitchen.”</p><p>Jesus mumbled something unintelligible as he stepped forward and scooped the dog into his arms. Judas continued, “I assume from your lack of surprise that you’re somehow involved in its acquisition.”</p><p>“I was going to tell you, but it was late when I got back from Simon’s. I didn’t want to wake you.”</p><p>“And somehow in the course of the night, you decided to acquire a dog?”</p><p>“It wasn’t my decision, exactly. It…uh…came from a book.”</p><p>“It came from what?”</p><p>“A really old, really dangerous book that Simon sto – borrowed from our dad’s secret library. He meant to just look for a protective spell or two, but accidentally summoned a hellhound.”</p><p>“So…that’s a <em>hellhound </em>you’re holding.”</p><p>“She’s not in her full form, but yes.”</p><p>Judas shook his head. “Sure.” <em>This might as well happen now, on top of everything else.</em> He reached for the jar of instant granules. This was a situation that warranted coffee on demand, now, and lots of it. He watched warily as Jesus cut off a few slices from the same leftover ham they were making sandwiches from and fed them to the little dog. She wolfed them down eagerly, occasionally side-eyeing Judas as if making sure he wouldn’t fight her for the ham.</p><p>“I’m not planning to keep her,” Jesus assured him as he took the steaming mug Judas pushed his way. “My mom is coming over to pick her up. I called her this morning, and she seems keen on a dog. So."</p><p>Judas downed half his own mug, savouring the bitter rush of heat down his gullet, before confronting his boyfriend. “There’s something you’re not telling me.”</p><p>He rolled his eyes at Jesus’ startled, guilty look. It was almost endearing how the latter remained unaware of the signs that gave him away: the fidgeting thumb, the tendency to fiddle with his shirt hem, or with a lock of hair.</p><p>“I’m guessing it has something to do with your mom coming over, instead of you going to her, which is what you’d usually do.”</p><p>Jesus lowered his eyes. “I’m…I’ve been told it’d be better for me to stay out of sight. Just for a day. Maybe two.”</p><p>“Why?”</p><p>After much hesitation, during which the dog curled up on his lap and began snoring softly, he told Judas what Gabriel had told him.</p><p>He fully expected to be told off for not conveying such pressing information sooner to his beloved. And he was right. Judas’ fit of pique was postponed only by the ringing of their doorbell and the sight of Mary waving from the gate. Bunny leapt down from Jesus’ lap and started yapping madly.</p><p>“Your father’s barrier still stands – I felt it before reaching the gate,” she informed Jesus as soon as he let her in. “It should do fine keeping intruders out.” Then she threw her arms around him, squeezing like a python. “Oh, my precious boy. You’ve done nothing to deserve all this.”</p><p>“Neither have you.”</p><p>“Don’t you dare suggest I should regret being your mother, or I will smack you so hard Satan will feel it from Hell.” Despite mincing no words in telling off her son on the phone earlier for fooling around with ancient magic, she softened the moment she entered the house and laid eyes on the chihuahua from hell. “Awww, there she is. Does she have a name yet?”</p><p>“Uhm. It’s Bunny.”</p><p>Judas snorted incredulously through his mouthful of sandwich. “It was an accident,” Jesus added. “She won’t answer to anything else now.”</p><p>He was quite nervous about the way his mother was fearlessly extending her hand. But Bunny seemed to like her. The dog sniffed her fingers for a bit before allowing herself to be patted, her large golden brown eyes fixed on Mary as her tail gave a short wag of approval. Perhaps she could sense their blood relation.</p><p>“I fed her a bit of ham earlier. Simon says she’ll eat pretty much anything, although I’ve yet to test what ‘anything’ is.” The mention of Simon reminded him that he should probably check if his sibling was up to anything stupid – namely, leaving the protection of home knowing he was on a hit list.</p><p>Simon’s phone rang for a long while before he answered, during which Jesus grew increasingly anxious. The tightness left his chest in a rush when an obnoxiously cheerful voice finally greeted him. “For what doth my dearest brother summon mine presence?”</p><p>“Just checking if you’re still in one piece.”</p><p>“Depends on what you mean by ‘one piece.’ I might be missing two fingertips.”</p><p>The screen froze for a second as Simon switched to a video call. His grinning visage appeared and he waved with the unwounded hand, the tips of his hair looking a bit charred.</p><p>Jesus shook his head. “Are you still browsing that book without protective gear on?”</p><p>“I told you, it’s not gonna kill me again. Also, I think I might have mastered the art of summoning.”</p><p>“Are you kidding me? One hellhound wasn’t enough?”</p><p>“No, of course not. You’re right – adopting a dog is a commitment, and I’ve decided it would be irresponsible to get one on a whim.”</p><p>“Good.”</p><p>“I’m actually learning how to summon a dire imp.”</p><p>
  <em>“Simon!”</em>
</p><p>“Or an army of them. You never know; we might need them for the war ahead. And there <em>will </em>be a war, if your ex-father has his way.”</p><p>“Simon…you can’t just…!”</p><p>“What? You can’t stop me from protecting myself – or my family. Which includes you, git.”</p><p>“There has to be a better way than a horde of uncontrollable imps!”</p><p>“Will you calm down? Dire imps are different from the little ones. They’re not witless idiots who run around breaking things the moment they’re bored.”</p><p>“Can’t you call on something less…unpredictable? I don’t know. A weapon of some kind, maybe?”</p><p>“Hey. You know what’s better than a weapon? An army of dire imps, with weapons.”</p><p>Jesus groaned, and Simon chuckled. “I was joking. About arming the imps. That <em>would</em> be a terrible idea.”</p><p>“You’re <em>very sure</em> you can keep them under control?”</p><p>“Of course.”</p><p>Jesus looked over to the living room where his mother was bonding with Bunny, who seemed to adore her. “I swear, if you do anything stupid, I’m telling Mom.”</p><p>Simon’s eyebrows show all the way up past his locks of singed hair. “You damned snitch! I’m coming over to kick you just for that – ”</p><p>There was a brief buzz of interference as the screen broke into pixels for a bit, and the sound of Simon’s phone clattering to the floor before he picked it up again. The pixels cleared and his face re-emerged.</p><p>“Oof. Dad’s barrier doesn’t allow teleporting. Can’t believe I have to unlock gates like a plebeian until this shit blows over.”</p><p>“Anything that discourages you from leaving the house can only be a good thing.”</p><p>“Dad really should know by now that such attempts tend to have the opposite effect.”</p><p>“<em>Please</em> do me one favour and tell me you’ll stay put for the next two days.” He added, after a beat: “And I promise not to tell on your illegal summoning attempts.”</p><p>Simon smiled broadly. “Deal. Oh, by the way, I’m out of food. Could you beg Judas to bring me some pizza? Like ten boxes?”</p><p>“Beg him yourself,” Judas said, peering over Jesus’ shoulder at the screen.</p><p>“Judas! My dearest friend.”</p><p>“More like your only friend, discounting your brother and whoever puts up with you because they can’t kill you.”</p><p>“My only friend in the world, may I beseech you for ten extra-large pizzas?”</p><p>Jesus handed his phone to Judas, who asked: “Why can’t you order them yourself?”</p><p>“Because my address doesn’t actually exist. Heck, this phone line doesn’t technically exist.”</p><p>“Right.” Simon’s abode occupied a pocket dimension between two actual houses, its front visible only to those who already knew it was there. He could have purchased property with the aid of convincingly authentic documents, no doubt. But he found it far more advantageous to remain invisible in the eyes of the law.</p><p>“Do you have a specific type in mind, or should I just get the most ridiculous toppings available?”</p><p>“The nearby Domino’s has a special edition pizza with boba pearls. It’s called the Bubble Tea Xtreme.”</p><p>“You disgust me.”</p><p>“Thanks.”</p><p>“I’ll drop them off when they arrive. You’re paying, though.”</p><p>“Of course! You’re the best, Judas. Order one for yourself; my treat.”</p><p>Judas kissed Jesus anxiously before he left, as if he wasn’t taking a four-minute walk to Simon’s non-existent front gate and coming back right after. “I’ll be fine,” Jesus said fondly. “Now go check on my idiot brother and make sure he hasn’t burnt his house down.”</p><p>He was about to text Simon to ask whether Bunny needed spaying when the wooden mynah started hopping and chirping frantically. Then he heard his name being called from outside. He opened the door and his heart froze at the sight of a nightmare come true: Judas stumbling toward the gate, injured and bleeding heavily, inches from death.</p><p>“No. No, <em>no, no.”</em> He ran thoughtlessly out the door, fumbling with the keys, dropping them twice before he managed to unlock the gate. From behind he heard his mother’s exclamation of dismay. Tears blurred his vision as he knelt beside Judas, who had collapsed onto the ground. “You shouldn’t have left,” he said shakily. “I should have known they’d try to hurt you…”</p><p>“It’s alright.”</p><p>“No, it’s not. You’re bleeding all over.”</p><p>“Everything will be fine.”</p><p>Jesus hugged him close before realising something felt strange. He pulled back to see the blood staining their clothes disappearing, the slick red streaks fading from his fingers as he stared at them. He looked back at his beloved’s pale face and saw the rictus of pain replaced with an eerie smile. “Everything will be fine,” came the eerie echo.</p><p>Jesus stared into the strange eyes that were not Judas’. “What…” He rose and backed away as the other man rose to his feet and the wounds disappeared. “What have you done with him?”</p><p>“Nothing. Judas will come to no harm.” The face of the man he loved was melting away as a cold light shone through the inhuman visage. They looked somewhat different now – smaller, and with fewer wings and limbs – but their very essence was all too recognisable.</p><p>“Michael,” he gasped as a hand clamped onto the back on his neck and a sensation like liquid ice crept through his veins. The world went cold and dark, and the last thing he heard was his mother screaming his name as Bunny howled woefully by her side.</p><p> </p><p>~</p><p> </p><p>Judas heard Mary crying out from several houses away and ran faster than he had ever run in his life. Simon was hot on his heels; he would have yelled at him to stay behind the barrier, but his mind was focused on one thing only: Jesus was in danger.</p><p>“An angel took him away,” she said hoarsely as she gripped Judas’ arms for support. Her fingers were cold with fear as her voice escalated into near-hysteria. “I don’t know where. I don’t know where they took my baby!” Beside her, Bunny snarled and whimpered by turn. She was so distraught that she barely reacted to the little dog growing briefly to the size and shape of a six-foot-tall mastiff before shrinking again and baying mournfully.</p><p>Simon put an arm around her. “Did you see what it looked like…the angel? Did you catch what they were saying?”</p><p>“I didn’t hear…I was too late – it took him before I could do anything.” She described what she had witnessed. Simon surmised from his limited knowledge that it was a lower angel, a guardian. “It took your form,” she said to Judas, tears streaming down her face. “We thought you were hurt…it was bleeding, until it wasn’t. Until it <em>changed.”</em></p><p>“Look, we know God probably wants Jesus alive. According to what Gabriel heard. The plan was to exterminate <em>me.”</em></p><p>“We don’t know for sure. We don’t know what they’ll do to him…” Mary was trying to hold it together, but one could tell she was being assaulted relentlessly by memories of her son being taken from her once before. “I can’t lose him again. I can’t. I <em>won’t.</em>” She turned to Simon. “Is there no way of tracing him?”</p><p>He took her trembling hands. “I – I don’t know.”</p><p>Judas, who had been speechless all this while, fixed red-rimmed eyes on him. “This is your doing,” he said bitterly – knowing he shouldn’t, desperate for someone to blame, to take some of the pain away. “If I hadn’t left the house…he wouldn’t have…”</p><p>“Judas. Don’t,” Mary began, but Simon held up a hand. He looked utterly miserable. “You’re right. It <em>is</em> my fault.” His face was pale, rigid with sorrow, with determination. “But I’m going to make things right.”</p><p>He turned from them, adding in the same flat voice that belied nothing of the upheaval in his very core: “I’m going to talk to my father. The two of you should stay safe.”</p><p>“No.” Mary reached out and grabbed onto his hand. “Take me with you.”</p><p>“You’re still alive <em>and</em> a human. You won’t make it past the entrance.”</p><p>“I can’t just sit around and do nothing, Simon. He’s all I have in this world.” Her grip was like iron, eyes brimming anew. “Tell me what I can do. Tell me how to save my boy!”</p><p>“I don’t know! I don’t have all the answers. I don’t have <em>any </em>answers; all I do is fuck things up!” Simon dropped onto the pavement with his head on his knees, hiding the sight of tears the two of them knew were there nonetheless. After a few terribly awkward seconds, Judas crouched beside him.</p><p>“I didn’t mean it, you know,” he said, his own voice rough with unshed tears. “I was being an asshole.”</p><p>A soft sniffle from Simon. “At least you’re consistent.”<strike></strike></p><p>“I try my best.” Judas twisted the silver ring on his left index finger: a present from Jesus, bearing an ivy leaf motif as a reference to their matching tattoos. It hurt him to look at it now. He would not have taken it off for the world. “Can your dad really help us?”</p><p>“It’s worth a shot.” Simon squeezed his eyes tight and concentrated. When he opened them, Satan was standing before them in one of his regular guises of a late-80’s Keith Richards lookalike. He looked as grim as Simon had ever seen him.</p><p>“Yes, your brother has been taken. No, I don’t know where he is. But every available demon is searching.”</p><p>This did little to console Simon. There were only several hundred demons who could be considered at least vaguely competent, and far fewer with the brains and initiative of the likes of Afryal and Uryalh. “I suspect it was Michael,’ he muttered. “But he might be in any one of his New Kingdom ‘communes’ worldwide.”</p><p>“We have covered thirty-two so far. He is not in any of them.” His gaze wandered to the plump chihuahua by Mary’s side. “Is that…one of ours?”</p><p>“Uhm.”</p><p>“Son, if you wanted a dog, you need only have asked.”</p><p>“She was an accident,” Simon replied, knowing Satan would see through his lies if he attempted any. “We can keep her, though, can’t we? She’s been very well-behaved. And she’ll come in useful; I just know it.”</p><p>“We’ll talk more about it another time, when neither of your lives are on the line.” Satan fixed his burning gaze on Simon. “I cannot risk allowing you to stay unshielded while the search goes on.”</p><p>Simon’s eyes widened, already knowing what his father was about to do. “Dad,<em> no.</em> Come on.”</p><p>His father raised a hand.</p><p>“Dad. Don’t even <em>think </em>about it – ”</p><p>Satan made a firm gesture his wayward son attempted to dodge. But his speed was no match for his father’s ancient wiliness. He managed to yell a short but vividly descriptive string of curses before he was pushed right into a secure dimension away from Earth. There was a faint yet sonorous vibration in the air as a door slammed shut somewhere in the depths of Hell – one that Simon would not be able to break for at least the next six hours. If he did, there were another few reinforced layers he would have to break through before getting anywhere near Earth.</p><p>“He’ll forgive me,” Satan said with a sigh. “Eventually.”</p><p> </p><p>~</p><p> </p><p>A day later, in the small sequestered chapel reserved for the leader of the New Kingdom and his communion with God, Marcel knelt before the altar where the words SUPER OMNES – ‘Above All’ – were inscribed around a wood carving of an all-seeing eye. His body dissolved to reveal the angel’s true form before the Dominions.</p><p>“I have the Lord’s son in my keeping. He is ready to be delivered into yours, and unto the Lord.”</p><p>
  <em>YOU HAVE DONE WELL, GUARDIAN. THE ALMIGHTY IS PLEASED.</em>
</p><p>As always, they chafed at the reminder of their lowly station. “As I am pleased and honoured to serve.” </p><p>
  <em>THERE ONLY REMAINS THE MATTER OF HIS DEATH.</em>
</p><p>“Death? I was under the impression he was to be brought in alive.”</p><p>
  <em>HIS SOUL BELONGS TO OUR LORD. BUT IT HAS BEEN CLAIMED BY SAMAEL, THE GREAT BETRAYER, WHO RESTORED IT TO HIS BODY. </em>
</p><p>“A grievous blasphemy indeed. A crime against the Lord’s ordain.”</p><p>
  <em>YOU SHALL RETURN HIM TO HIS FATHER’S SIDE, MICHAEL. HIS TRUE FATHER, NOT THE FALSE USURPER WHO WILL EXERT HIS INFLUENCE FOR AS LONG AS JESUS IS ALIVE.</em>
</p><p>Michael knew the command needed no further acknowledgment. They would do his duty to their Maker; that was beyond question. The Dominions disappeared, taking their light with them and leaving the chapel dark once more.</p><p>Assuming their human form, they walked out into a soft balmy breeze, the heat of day having simmered into a cool evening with a sky splashed in hues of pink and gold and dusty grey. Passing acolytes hailed Marcel as he passed them by. Only when the angel was out of their far-reaching sight did they disappear, and rematerialize outside a deserted barn somewhere far from the commune. Far from where those now hunting them and their prisoner would find them.</p><p>In a corner untouched by the light from the windows, Jesus knelt blindfolded with his wrists bound above him, strung to the beams above. He twitched at the touch of Marcel’s hand, feeling the angel’s cold glow without needing to see it. Michael could not read minds any more than most angels could (for minds were complex, tangled things even God Himself could not always discern the depths of), but they could feel raw emotion, and the primitive cry of pain. And pain radiated off the man in waves.</p><p>Michael did not enjoy the inflicting of suffering; far from it. Everything they had done was in the service of their Father from whom their separation felt like a wound upon the heart. There was little pleasure in breaking an already haunted, tormented man. But if they must do so, they would. Duty above all. Duty, and obedience, and filial, unending love of the kind only an angel could know.</p><p>This morning he had instructed three from the Circle of his most faithful to inflict upon their captive a ritual flogging that had left his back and shoulders with deep red welts that stopped short of breaking the skin, but left their mark – and their sting – even on his fast-healing body. (There had been members of the Kingdom who were subject to similar punishments for straying from the flock, or for spreading heresy or discord. Those whose were assigned to mete out judgment therefore did their task with thoroughness, knowing it was their sacred duty to keep the children of God united.) He had cried out from confusion as much as from the blows. He refused to see the reason for the sentence carried out upon him. And there was only so much the Circle could do to guide him back to the true path.</p><p>But the pain of the flesh – the throbbing of his wounds, the fire in his limbs from being bound for so long with no respite – was only the surface. A deeper misery stemmed from human attachments, and being severed from them. “Your attachments make you weak,” he said to Jesus, with more than a little sympathy. “You tire of running, yet you keep doing so because the alternative is to be parted from the ones you hold dear.”</p><p>“What do want from me?” came the fatigued whisper. He had neither slept nor eaten for a day and night, and it was starting to strain his still all-too-human body. As the evening sun faded, the air grew cold; soon his faint shivering would deepen, the chill creeping into his bones. “What else would God ask of me?”</p><p>“He wishes only to welcome you home,” Michael replied. “You belong by His side. That is your rightful place.” They placed a hand on his chest, letting some of their light flow into him, soothing his pains for just a moment. “Leave behind this imperfect, broken mortal shell. Walk the earth as an angel – as the highest of angels, beyond even the seraphim. Live your every moment filled with the glory of His light. And bliss as you have never known before.”</p><p>They withdrew the glow of radiance and Jesus shuddered as every screaming ache in his limbs returned. “Do I have no choice in the matter?”</p><p>Michael’s fingers trailed over his lips, down his neck, tracing the fine silver chain he wore around his neck down to its pendant. “Interesting trinket,” they murmured. “A symbol of your premature demise. The day you cheated destiny…only for it to find you again.”</p><p>As they cradled the bullet in their palm, the metal suddenly grew searing hot and burnt almost through their ethereal flesh. “Blasphemy!” they hissed at the touch of the demon-forged alloy. “A sacrilege against God. You dare wear this…<em>abomination </em>on your body?” Michael struck him hard across the face, leaving behind an angry red mark. “I should have you whipped again until you bleed!”</p><p>A strange breeze stirred the air just then. As both raised their heads at its otherworldly presence, a rose-gold glow seeped into the large decrepit barn, turning the rotting wood whole and the chill air pleasantly warm. “Glory be to my Maker!” Michael whispered, on the verge of weeping. God Himself was present. God was embracing his dearest chosen, spilling words into his ear, words that Michael could hear traces of but was otherwise barred from. MY CHILD…HOW I HAVE MOURNED YOUR LOSS.</p><p>Jesus was tossing his head feverishly as if trying to push the divine voice from his head. He murmured something in reply as God kept entreating him. IT PAINS ME TO SEE YOU SUFFER... The golden light spilled from his eyes, from his mouth. COME BACK TO ME, MY SON. I AM WAITING.</p><p>“My God…my Lord. Speak to me, please,” Michael begged on their knees. “My Lord, I have done all you asked of me. I have suffered your judgment; I have suffered without Your love. Must you continue to forsake me?” They held out their hands, reaching desperately, feeling their pleas go ignored and hurting deeply for it. “Won’t you speak to me?? Just one word, Lord.” They started to weep openly, a tragic and terrible sound. “Father…don’t abandon me. <em>Please </em>don’t abandon me.”</p><p>But already the immense halo was fading, withdrawing. Michael chased its formless light in vain, all the while sobbing: “Don’t leave me! Father!” He kept up the litany, softer and softer, losing hope as darkness and decay and cold enveloped them once more.</p><p>Sorrow turned to confusion, then to anger. They turned upon Jesus and tore off the blindfold so they could look into the betrayer’s eyes as they screamed their rage. “<em>How dare you spurn Him!</em> How dare you turn away <em>His love</em> when there are those who hunger for it, who are dying without it?!” Their fingers tightened around Jesus’ neck and coal-hot fury shot forth, making their captive cry out in agony. “How does He favour <em>you,</em> a weak, ungrateful being, when <em>I </em>am one of His own!”</p><p>After watching Jesus writhe and scream himself hoarse with the near-unbearable pain they inflicted, they finally withdrew their fingers. Their own fury frightened them; it was unbecoming, utterly un-angelic, shaking them to the core even as they composed themself. “You will pay for your sins, faithless child,” they told the broken, shivering man. “If we must torture your flesh to save your soul, so be it.”</p><p>Minutes later, the most blessed Circle of the messiah were given their instructions: to make preparations for the most momentous ritual they would have the honour of partaking in. Marcel spoke to them as they joined arms in a linked embrace. “Tonight, we will witness a great Cleansing. And you, my faithful, shall guide the lost back to their Maker.” He stepped away, touching them on the forehead one by one. “Tonight we return the Son to his Father.”</p><p>They followed his gaze to the very centre of their commune, where stood a great wooden structure reaching up to the heavens. “Ready the pyre,” he said. <em>If he would live as a betrayer, then he will die as one.</em></p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>apologies to Mandy for not delivering quite enough whump for your needs haha (but we'll keep dreaming)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. The Blood of the Covenant</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Family to the rescue. A battle ensues as demons and angels clash.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Chapters may be slow because of work getting in the way (and also catching up on movies or tv shows i've been meaning to watch, not gonna lie) .</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>Once Simon had satisfied his outrage by sinking a good part of his knife collection into the walls of his prison – and admittedly, it was a very cushy prison, about the size of a small apartment – he started exploring the place for weak spots or cracks that were not resistant to magic. He wondered if this cell had been specially designed with him in mind, and at what point Satan had foreseen the need for it.</p><p>Only when he was running his hand over a shelf of books did he remember the wallet-sized grimoire still in his pocket. “Dammit. How could I forget??” He dug it out and threw it on the floor, keeping a safe distance this time.</p><p>“Alright, my friend. Show me some ancient magic Dad would completely disapprove of.”</p><p>The book did not expand and unfold as it should, but lay there in its harmless shrunken form. He nudged it with his foot, then tried a kick just to provoke it. The miniature tome did not so much as twitch. “Oh, come <em>on!</em>” His father had been thorough indeed; this place seemed impervious to all kinds of enchantments. Picking it up, he flipped through its pages and squinted at the tiny print until he saw – or rather, felt – something promising.</p><p>Simon was not half as stupid as he was reckless. He knew well enough the potential dangers of playing with fire. But desperate times called for the sort of bravery with a dash of stupid in it. He needed more than fire. He needed a bomb. And before too long, he found the spell for it.</p><p>With a deep breath, he allowed the arcane words to flow through him….</p><p>The denizens of Hell would remember the Day of the Inferno for a long time to come. It had begun with a soft <em>thoom</em>, followed by vibrations that built up into an earthquake and sent everything hurling sideways for what humans would have estimated to be roughly ten minutes. Then came the heat.</p><p>Popular depictions of the underworld give the impression that fire and brimstone is practically <em>de rigueur</em>. The truth was that, with the exception of arson-loving creatures like Simon, most inhabitants of Satan’s realm – including Satan himself – liked fire in moderate amounts. And everyone was justifiably upset when a nuclear-like explosion shot through several levels of Hell, destroying nearly everything in its wake.</p><p>When the debris had settled, a voice was heard emerging from the source of the inferno uttering profuse apologies, albeit in a fashion that suggested he was only doing the necessary and would everyone please calm down for a bit.</p><p>“Don’t say it,” he commented as he passed Uryalh, who followed in his wake. “You’re going to ask what I think I’m doing. And I don’t know yet.”</p><p>“Actually, I was going to ask about your arm. Or the lack of it.” There was a charred-looking stump where Simon’s left arm was supposed to be. Uryalh sounded quite vexed about this, despite the fact that <em>he</em> was the one suffering. He was numbing the pain with a spell, but just enough to take the edge off; he didn’t have the focus for more advanced magic just now.</p><p>“Aren’t you supposed to be looking for my brother?”</p><p>“I’d <em>just </em>returned to bring you updates so that you wouldn’t attempt to tear down the walls. But I can see I was too late for that.”</p><p>He emerged back where he had last stood on earth, Uryalh still in their midst of rolling their eyes at him. They stood beside him now in the guise of a middle-aged woman. “You’ll be grounded for years after this,” they said.</p><p>“Worth it.” He was about to say more, but was interrupted by a hot glow in his chest area that had nothing to do with the firestorm he had caused. Something was calling to him from across a distance. The call of a charm forged by magic and steel and blood. It wanted him to know, to see.</p><p>With a pounding heart, he closed his eyes and<em> saw</em> –</p><p>An angel’s face twisted in fury. A wide verdant landscape ringed by hills. Flickering torches and voices singing in an spine-chilling chorus. In the middle of it all, a towering structure of wood and brush.</p><p>When he opened his eyes, he was calling for his father before he was even fully conscious of doing so. Satan appeared two seconds later with Mary, Judas and Bunny in tow. “What happened to your arm?” Satan asked. “And how did you break out?”</p><p>“Please, Dad, it’s not important.”</p><p>“You are missing a limb. I have the right to be concer – ”</p><p>“I know where he is,” Simon interjected. “He’s in trouble. We have to go, <em>now.</em>”</p><p>Satan adjusted his priorities accordingly. “Will we need reinforcements?”</p><p>“We might.”</p><p>“I’ll take care of it. Tell me where.”</p><p>He sent all that he had seen using their telepathic link. “I’ll see you there.” Then he grabbed the two humans and the dog, and headed towards the place he had seen in his head.</p><p>Uryalh never got the chance to ask if they had a plan. “So we’re just improvising, then,” they sighed. “Oh, well. It’s a good a day as any to die.” They disappeared with a crack, following in the still-warm trail Simon had left behind.</p><p> </p><p>~</p><p> </p><p>It was happening all over again. Like a nightmare that had finally caught up with his waking life, an agonizing death awaited him. And yet the singing of the crowd brimmed with adoration, with bliss. Their smiling faces seemed not to acknowledge that his hands were bound as a prisoner’s would be, or that among the cheerful crowd were the same people who had tied him up and flogged him while the others watched in silence.</p><p>They sang as if he had come of his own free will to grace them with his sacrifice. Hands brushed him lovingly as he was paraded past them. Hands clasped his face and whispered prayers in his ear. <em>Touched by God,</em> came the repeated murmurs. <em>Loved by God Himself.</em></p><p>“If he loves me, then why won’t he save me?” he asked, his voice a ragged, threadbare thing drowned in the growing fervour. Only Michael heard him. Michael, who chose not to answer. Whose heart had grown bitter with envy when God had chosen to speak to him while shunning the one he had deemed unworthy. In their deceptively beatific guise, aided by a stout beaming woman who was one of the Kingdom’s most devout, they dragged their battered prisoner to his final destination.</p><p>Yes, he had heard the voice of the Lord of Heaven. He had been moved to tears – a small part of him wanting to believe his not-Father loved him still. Perhaps all would be revealed in time. Had he not, once upon a time, preached faith to his own followers? Had he indeed fallen from grace, and was now being given another chance at redemption?</p><p>
  <em>Come back to me, my son. I am waiting.</em>
</p><p><em>A few more years,</em> he wanted to beg. <em>Ten years, and you can have me.</em> But he knew he would not go willingly even after a century. Death was only the beginning; his true sentence was eternity. Forever spent longing for a family he would be torn and barred from. The weight of knowing this bore down on him and he collapsed to his knees before being pulled back to his feet, pulled ever closer to his doom. The singing and chanting melted into a formless cacophony. Above, the stars were trickling from the sky in silvery streaks. He tried to blink his vision back into focus, but reality was stubbornly slippery, distorting into a twisted ugly kaleidoscope version of itself. He felt hot and ice-cold by turns. He had lost feeling in his fingers and his feet, the strain in his sinews fading into exhaustion, into a longing for an end to everything. The numbness was a gift; perhaps the flames would hurt less for it.</p><p>Perhaps, after all these years, God would show him mercy at last.</p><p>Against his acceptance of death, his body clung to life, reminding him of its needs. His hunger had long faded to a husk of itself, but his thirst still begged to be slaked. “Water, please,” he pled as he was tied to the stake. “Just one drink...one more…” His dry throat felt as if it was already on fire.</p><p><em>Patience, child,</em> came Michael’s voice. <em>Soon you will have no need for such creature comforts. Your human frailties will be no more than a memory.</em></p><p>But then someone was pressing a bowl of deliciously cool water to his lips. He drank it gratefully to the last drop before recognising the one proffering this small mercy. “Gabriel.” He could have wept with gladness at the sight of the kind, familiar face, but he was all out of tears. The angel’s face was beautiful in its sorrow. Gabriel was in their mortal form, disguised as one of the acolytes. “It hurts to see you like this,” they whispered. “I’m so sorry. I tried to…”</p><p>“It’s alright.”</p><p>“There are other angels among the Kingdom followers. I’m trying to be as invisible as I can. They can sense their own, you know.”</p><p>“I’m glad to see you.”</p><p>Their fingers tugged at the ropes wound around his arms and waist. “I’m no longer able to bear you away. Could you flee if I freed you?” The weight of their words suggested they were ready to die trying. Jesus shook his head. “I don’t have the strength. Michael made sure of that.”</p><p>They were weeping openly now. Jesus marvelled at their tears. “I’ve never seen an angel cry.”</p><p>“I never could before. It is a gift.” They put their arms around him and kissed his cheek, his forehead. “I’ll be with you to the end. I promise.”</p><p>“But the fire…it’ll kill you. You’re more human than angel now – ”</p><p>“I don’t care.” Gabriel wrapped their cool arms around his feverish body. “Let me take some of the pain.”</p><p>They shimmered and became a ghost once more as Michael-as-Marcel mounted the platform, bearing a torch. “Are you ready to meet your destiny at last?” he spoke, his face soft with compassion, at odds with the cold light of the diamond-hard eyes. “Your Father is waiting.”</p><p>Jesus’ voice was barely above a whisper, but his gaze met the angel’s steadily as he declared what he knew in his heart of hearts to be true.</p><p>“He is <em>not</em> my father.”</p><p>Marcel’s face hardened with wrath and with envy. <em>Unworthy,</em> he mouthed. Out loud, he shouted: <em>“Glory be to God!”</em>His words echoed by the surrounding crowd as he raised his torch and set the pyre aflame.</p><p>Jesus watched the flickering tongues rise until he felt the heat start to prick his skin, hotter and hotter, turning his world into a blaze of orange-gold. The heat and the smoke choked him, stealing air from his lungs. Soon the pain would come, he knew. Soon the screams would be forced from him, all resistance rendered futile. But resist he would, for as long as his will allowed. He closed his eyes and felt Gabriel’s unseen arms tighten around him….</p><p>Then the fire withdrew as if being pushed back by a storm. Simon was levitating above the pyre, lightning in his eyes, brimming with primordial force as Jesus had never seen him before. He looked no less impressive for the fact that he was missing an arm. Michael bellowed with fury and aimed a slew of small fiery daggers, but Simon dodged and deflected them, redirecting a few at the Kingdom acolytes flocking to their leader’s side and slaying them on the spot.</p><p>There were more to replace them, of course. But as the mindless crowd came bearing their torches, bent on carrying out the promised immolation, a vengeful figure wielding a sickle cut through them like a bloody field of wheat. A spray of crimson fell across Judas’ face and arms as he sliced into the throat of a man twice his size. More acolytes came at him wielding their own weapons, and he slayed them without mercy. His movements were clumsy at first, but before long took on a more fluid, almost graceful rhythm. A dancer bathed in firelight and blood. He looked unstoppable and fearsome and absolutely glorious.</p><p>But even the most fearless of humans was no match for the rising tide of divine retribution. An eerie chorus of voices rose as the angels among them shed their human forms, growing wings and weapons and fiery haloes. “Well, I’ll be fucked,” yelled Judas as he and Simon leapt onto the pyre only to be barred by a large ophan, a flaming wheel-like being with seemingly countless eyes. Before it could drive the sharp edges of its circular body into their fragile human bodies, something spiky and purplish black latched on to it and gouged out ten of its eyes in the struggle. When the demon succeeded in pulling off its wings, it conceded defeat and disappeared with a sound of rustling, burning silk.</p><p>“Jrbral!” Simon stared in admiration. “I didn’t know you had that in you.”</p><p>Jrbral dusted themselves off with an air of well-deserved pride. “I was just warming up. It’s going to be a long night.”</p><p>“Didn’t Dad send for backup? Where is everyone else?”</p><p>“They’re already here.”</p><p>True enough, there was a cacophony of crackling and the strong smell of gunpowder as an army of demons materialised to leap onto the angels with fangs and claws out, spiked tails flying like whips through the air. Simon made use of the distraction and appeared by Jesus’ side, slicing through the ropes with one move. “Next time call on me earlier, you git,” his brother said as Jesus was enveloped in a tight one-armed hug.</p><p>“Call on…?”</p><p>“I felt this getting hot all the way across five states.” Simon loosened his grip and tapped the bullet now lying innocuously against his chest. “Dad was right after all. Something about blood that binds.”</p><p>“I’m glad I kept it on. I guess it’s like carrying a piece of you.”</p><p>His eyes fell on what was left of Simon’s limb. The end of the stump had long mended itself, but clearly it would be some time before the man had a working arm again.</p><p>“Yeah, I’ll tell you about it later. Got some people to maim first. Too bad they won’t be growing<em> their</em> limbs back.” Simon’s smile was grim but comforting. Jesus smiled back as he tried to stay on his feet, his own knees barely supporting him as Simon helped him down from the pyre. Then he saw his beloved coming for him and fell with a sob into Judas’ arms.</p><p>“Tell me you’re real this time,” he whispered as the man bore him away from the fire, the cool night air soothing his face. In response Judas kissed him fiercely. He returned the kiss with the last of his strength, wanting the moment to last forever even as the world faded away into darkness.</p><p> </p><p>~</p><p> </p><p>Sitting astride Bunny, who bore her right into the heart of the battle, Mary saw Simon and Judas cut through a swathe of humans and angels both to retrieve her son. Her heart grew light with relief even as it ached to see the battered, spent figure who was her only child. She barely felt the pain of landing on the ground from sliding off the six-foot-tall hound.</p><p>As they embraced, Jesus collapsed in his lover’s arms from exhaustion and relief. Judas knelt and cradled him close and did not hear the attack on both their lives until it was nearly too late. Mary cried out just before Michael’s conjured blade found its way into Judas’ back and threw herself right at the angel. Stunned by her rush of strength, Michael failed to throw her off as she wrestled them to the ground, and could not stop the onslaught of Bunny’s jaws from ripping off their wings and one of their legs. The dog barked loudly in triumph as she swallowed the limb whole before the ethereal substance could dissipate into the air. Her eyes blazed bright gold for a moment as her whole body glowed like an ember.</p><p>“I think she just became more powerful,” Simon remarked. As if agreeing with him, Bunny wagged her tail before licking Jesus’ face. He would have laughed and patted her nose; but he was barely hanging on to consciousness as it was. Mary cradled his face and kissed his forehead, sobbing over the feverish heat of his flushed skin. Heartache turned to anger. Her entire being shook with vengeance as she glared down the angel who had kidnapped and tormented her son.</p><p>“You will pay for hurting my baby,” she hissed. Jrbral and two other demons materialised by her side, ready to help her exact that payment. Michael drew back but did not cower. They raised their head and called out in Marcel’s voice to the faithful followers.</p><p>“The infidels have slain our brothers and sisters! They have died to defend the Kingdom of God! Will you do the same?”</p><p>The answer came loud and clear. They closed in on the intruders as one, flocks of angels flying above them. Mary grabbed the bloodied sickle that Judas had dropped and held it before her. “I’ve never killed anyone before,” she said. The absence of hesitance in her voice suggested she was ready to try.</p><p>“First time for everything,” Simon replied, hoisting his own weapon. It bore a vague resemblance to a scythe, if a scythe had a rather excessive amount of spiky bits. He swung it at a descending cherub as Mary sliced into the throat of a tall wild-eyed man. She gasped as his eyes rolled back and he fell at her feet. But more came to take his place, and she found her sickle was ready for them. Mere inches above her head, a demon tackled an angel before it could sink its knives into her. Two ophanim attacked Judas, one of them sprouting arms that attempted to snatch Jesus from him. “You’ll have him over my dead body,” he spat.</p><p>“And over mine.” Gabriel shielded them from the fiery angels, pushing them back with all their might. But their diminished force was no match for one ophan, never mind two. The blazing wheels spun relentless and bore down on them. Crying out from the pain but refusing to budge, they threw themself over the lovers as the flames began to scorch their flesh…</p><p>The ground shook suddenly as a simmering heat filled the air. The ophanim were swept away and crushed. Satan stood at his full height in the midst of the frenzy, flanked by four bloodthirsty hellhounds who wasted no time in tearing into the angels nearest to their jaws. Simon and the demons made short work of the rest while Mary stood like a feral banshee over Judas and her son, slicing mercilessly into anyone who dared come near them. Bunny claimed her fair share of victims with the enthusiasm of an overgrown puppy. Before long, the surviving Kingdom devotees had scattered and the last of the angels disappeared to let their wounds heal and wings regenerate. Michael alone was left, dismembered and defenceless and weeping their rage into the ground where they lay.</p><p>“End my life,” they said to Satan, to the only one among them capable of killing an angel. “I have outlived my worth. I have failed, and I am nothing in the eyes of God.”</p><p>“Death is too good for you,” Judas said vehemently, and Mary looked inclined to agree. Their pale blood-streaked faces were still hard with the remnants of battle fury, even as their eyes were haunted by what had taken place tonight. They held on tight to each other, Jesus nestled between them, Simon standing over the three like an avenging angel himself.</p><p>Satan held up a hand. “Michael did all they did to earn the love of their Maker,” he said. “And still it was not enough. It will never be enough.” His voice sounded almost sad. “I was once in your place, Michael.”</p><p>“<em>You?</em> You rejected His love. And you have influenced <em>him</em> to do the same.” They glared at Jesus, who was stirring weakly in Judas’ arms as Mary held his hand. “Yet God would have welcomed him back before me. <em>Me,</em> when I have been nothing but faithful…” The angel dissolved into a strange wailing. Angels could not cry as humans did, and their laments were eerie to the ears, like the howl of an icy wind from across a lonely sea.</p><p>They had triumphed for now. Yet Satan found no joy in beholding his fallen foe. With a sombre look he turned to Simon. “Take them home,” he said, gesturing to the three humans and Bunny, who was once again chihuahua-sized. “Stay inside the circle until I join you.” His father’s order brooked no argument, and for once Simon did not offer any. To Gabriel, he added: “Thank you for being a loyal friend to my sons. I am sorry for what you’ve had to suffer.”</p><p>Mary reached out to take Gabriel’s hand. “Come with us,” she said. “I never did thank you for all you’ve done. And you’re hurt, besides.” She looked with concern at the stretch of scalded flesh the ophanim’s fire had left behind.</p><p>“I’ll recover soon enough. With more speed than a human would, I daresay.”</p><p>“Still. You shouldn’t be alone at a time like this.” Her hand tightened around theirs, and they smiled and let her pull them into the small huddle around Simon.</p><p>After they had gone, Satan was left alone with Michael. He had sent the hellhounds back once they were no longer needed. Around them, the verdant landscape stretched on into the hills, peaceful save for the bodies dotting the grass. “So much needless loss of life,” he remarked. “Will there be a place for them in the Heaven you so ardently defend?”</p><p>“They lay down their lives for God. They died doing what is right. As must I.”</p><p>“Do you really long for death? To be as dust, with no sense of self, of memory? An angel’s death is unlike a human’s.”</p><p>“I wish for oblivion. My existence means nothing without the light of my Lord.”</p><p>Satan could have argued otherwise from personal experience alone. But in truth, he did not mind so much the idea of ending Michael’s existence. He knew it would be one less threat to his family. Doubtless there would always be another to take the angel’s place. Still, with enough luck, they might lack Michael’s particular flavour of zeal.</p><p>Before he could strike, however, there was the sound of billowing silk as Khamuel appeared in all their winged and haloed glory. “You will not take them,” they said in a voice like the clashing of swords. “God has plans for them yet.”</p><p>Michael looked up at the Warlord of Heaven, not quite daring to meet their eyes. “He does? He forgives me?”</p><p>Khamuel’s withering glance silenced them (for no one gives withering looks – the kind that makes you feel unworthy of licking dirt off a boot – quite like a high-ranking angel). To Satan, they continued: “If you kill them now, it will constitute an act of war.”</p><p>“God means to have his war regardless, doesn’t he?”</p><p>“It depends. There is room for negotiation yet.”</p><p>Satan’s voice hardened into tempered steel. “You will not have my sons.”</p><p>“Then you would rain havoc and destruction upon everything you claim to love. All for the lives of two brats: one of which you can make another, and one who was never yours to begin with.”</p><p>“They are <em>mine </em>– both of them. They are under my protection now.” Satan’s unyielding stare was returned in kind. They stood at an impasse for what seemed like an eternity until the first weak stains of daylight cast its pallor over the meadow.</p><p>Satan sighed deeply. “Can we at least dispose of the dead with some dignity? I presume they are yours, at any rate.”</p><p>Khamuel made a gesture of affirmation. “You are correct. And yes; they deserve that much.”</p><p>In an act that felt strangely like a truce in the midst of war, they rose above the commune and set each body aflame, watching the golden embers scatter into ash and become one with the gentle wind sweeping over the pastoral landscape. Satan also extinguished the tall structure of wood and brush that would have claimed his adopted child. When the wide field was empty once more, restored to its idyllic state, he faced the seraph and nodded stiffly in acknowledgment. Khamuel returned the gesture and disappeared with Michael in their hold.</p><p>“Let this be the end of things. For all our sakes,” Satan whispered to God, all the while wondering if the great confrontation had only just begun.</p><p> </p><p>- <strong>THE END </strong>OF <strong>PART 2 -</strong></p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0013"><h2>13. Fallout</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>shades of PTSD + some family time with Mom, Dad, the dog and two demons</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>~  P A R T   3  ~</strong>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>"In times of crisis, we must all decide again and again whom we love."</em>
</p><p>- Frank O'Hara</p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>-A MONTH LATER-</strong>
</p><p> </p><p>Judas awoke at some odd lightless hour on a Saturday morning for no particular reason. The spot next to him was empty, which immediately worried him.</p><p>The bathroom light was off; no one was in there. He went to the living room and exhaled in relief to see a figure lying huddled on the sofa. Jesus’ eyes were closed, but the subtle twitching and shifting indicated he was fully conscious. “What the fuck are you up to?”</p><p>Jesus opened his eyes with a wretched look that suggested he had not slept at all. “Nightmares again?” asked Judas.</p><p>Jesus shook his head. “Not yet. I didn’t want to wake you. That’s why I came out here.” He was referring to the regular phenomenon of waking in a fit of terror that inevitably roused his light sleeper of a boyfriend. He could never recall the details of each dream; they remained formless phantoms that reared their ugly faces when he managed to sink into slumber long enough, and he rose from their clutches with his heart pounding, struggling audibly to catch his breath.</p><p>“You know, being determined to suffer alone is the root cause of most of your problems.”</p><p>He sighed. “There’s only so much I can ask you to suffer. Before you grow tired of it, and…”</p><p>“And what?”</p><p>“I don’t know. I just know I’m not…easy to be with right now.”</p><p>“And you think I’m gonna leave you for that? Seriously?”</p><p>Jesus said nothing; the ache rising in his throat left no room for words. He tried to imagine a life without Judas by his side, and the very thought filled him with misery. “I don’t ever want you to leave,” he whispered when the ache had subsided. “And I…I can’t risk that you – that you might – ”</p><p>“Listen, if you don’t stop being stupid, I <em>will</em> call Simon over to slap some sense into you.” Judas stood and pulled Jesus towards him with a roughness he knew the latter found pleasurable. “I’d die for you a thousand times over, painfully if need be. I’ll live through your insufferable pickiness over cushion covers and matching pastas to the right sauces for the next millennium.” He kissed those soft lips with an almost bruising force, feeling Jesus melt into him, their bodies fitting together as perfectly as they always had. “You’re stuck with me. Just accept it.”</p><p>Jesus smiled through his tears. “Alright.”</p><p>“Now stop being an idiot and come back to bed.”</p><p>They fell asleep with arms around each other, forming a protective circle from encroaching nightmares, and did not stir till well past noon. Judas woke to the pleasant sensation of Jesus’ soft dark hair and soft breaths against his chest, his face almost child-like in its contentment. There were traces of shadow beneath the eyes that had not slept undisturbed ever since the night they had come home covered in the blood of murderous cult members, Jesus muttering deliriously in his arms as Mary cooled him down with a damp cloth. Two nights ago he had dreamt of cutting into a cake only to realise it was the head of a woman he had stabbed during the battle.</p><p>He could only wonder at what played through the mind of the man he loved more than anyone and anything on this earth. Jesus refused to talk about his time in captivity, and there were only so many ways he could be pushed without triggering the sort of withdrawal that included long stretches of silence during which he retreated so deeply into himself that it frightened Judas. It had happened only twice, but during those few hours Judas had feared he might never get him back. That Jesus might be lost forever within the abyss, leaving behind a frighteningly blank shell.</p><p>Jesus finally awoke and shifted his body to close the smallest gaps between them. The arm that had been loosely draped across Judas’ waist tightened as his shoulders tensed. The calm that had suffused his face in sleep was all but gone, a frown forming on his brow.</p><p>“What is it?” Jesus merely shook his head when prodded and clung tighter.</p><p>“So you’re going to keep all your problems inside until they kill you? That’s supposed to be my thing, not yours.”</p><p>“I don’t know where to start,” Jesus said after a long stretch of silence, during which Judas rubbed circles in the base of his neck and the muscles along his shoulders. He had seen Mary do it once, and it had worked wonders. The grip around his torso loosened and the tightness eased from Jesus’ face as he leaned into the steadily moving fingers. “Last week I nearly destroyed a whole oven in the bakery by being careless. I’m anxious and scattered all the time, and when I’m not I barely have the energy to do anything, and I’m <em>sick of it.</em>”</p><p>With his other hand Judas stroked Jesus’ hair in the way that always soothed him. He wished he could soothe himself the same way, wondering if Jesus could feel the hot tight coil of anger at those who had manipulated and abused and worn down this beautiful, infuriating, wonderful person he had chosen to live and die with.</p><p>“I wish I could walk back into heaven to kick God in his shrivelled nuts,” he cursed. His words lifted the cloud of gloom and made Jesus laugh softly. As he pressed a kiss to Judas’ palm, his phone lit up with a message and he reached for it.</p><p><em>I’m coming over,</em> said the text, obnoxiously assuming as always that this would be met with no objection. <em>Want me to bring food?</em></p><p>Jesus didn’t feel like risking Simon’s questionable tastes in even the most pedestrian foods. <em>It’s fine. I might cook something simple. Want me to make extra?</em></p><p>
  <em>Do you even need to ask? :)</em>
</p><p>He groaned and stretched, pushing himself up from bed. “I’m going to make a quick lunch. Simon’s dropping by.”</p><p>“Tell him to wait.” Judas pulled him back in and delighted in his kittenish sound of pleasure as the curves and angles of their bodies found each other again like the pieces of a puzzle. He slid his hands beneath Jesus’ clothes and within seconds had reduced the latter to a panting mess rubbing hungrily against his thighs. “Slut,” he teased, his own voice rough with want.</p><p>“Only for you,” came the reply. It made him mad with lust as he reached into the bedside drawer and fumbled for the lubricant.</p><p>They had not made love since the night of the battle, and Jesus had sincerely doubted his ability to give or receive such pleasure in the difficult weeks that followed, in which he moved back and forth from listlessness to constant anxiety. The rush of bliss surging through him cut through the haze of grey tainting his every moment and made him glad to be alive. Their coupling was brief but intensely satisfying. They ended up staying in bed an hour longer than intended, cradled in the safety of each other’s arms, safe for now from the dangers of a world on the verge of war.</p><p> </p><p>~</p><p> </p><p>“Due to pressing circumstances, we shall have to expedite our movie night discussion post-haste,” Simon declared with an air of great importance.</p><p>“And what are those pressing circumstances?” asked Jesus.</p><p>“Your moping around the house for the past two weeks looking like someone just died.”</p><p>“It’s called post-traumatic stress, you little shit.”</p><p>"Leave it." Jesus laid a hand on Judas' arm. "Simon being a shit is how he comforts people." He didn't like admitting it, but more often than not it worked. His brother being a brat gave even dire situations a sense of normalcy that he needed after everything that had happened.</p><p>"Heard you nearly burnt down the bakery," Simon added in between mouthfuls of penne. "Wish I'd been there."</p><p>"Did you come over with the express purpose of getting me to stab you?" Judas threatened with his fork. “Besides. If he wasn’t ‘moping around the house’ today you’d be eating some kind of garbage instead of this.”</p><p>“Listen, I get all that. I only ever have Jesus’ best interests at heart.”</p><p>“If you had <em>anyone’s</em> best interests at heart, you wouldn’t be recommending Attack of the Clones.”</p><p>Simon ignored the jab and stared intently at his small remaining heap of penne until it multiplied into double its amount. The conjured pasta was nowhere close to its original, of course; its texture was closer to that of a rubber hose than anything made with flour. But it served well enough as sustenance – something that Simon’s unique metabolism needed plenty of.</p><p>“It’s nice that you finally got laid, anyway,” he said casually to Jesus, who choked on his own mouthful of pasta. Simon just grinned. “Siblingly intuition,” he added.</p><p>“Please keep whatever else you know about our sex life to yourself,” said Judas.</p><p>“My lips are sealed on the subject.” He wiped off the last of his rubbery lunch, marvelling at how the magic of Jesus’ marinara sauce made it palatable instead of merely edible. At least to someone with his flexible standards. “Also, Attack of the Clones is iconic. The bad bits are spectacularly bad. It’s its own form of entertainment.”</p><p>“If you want entertainingly bad, we should do The Room.”</p><p>“I’m all for The Room,” Jesus commented, marking his first contribution to the great debate. “Good luck explaining it to Dad, though.”</p><p>“We’ll just tell him the movie was designed to be confusing. Which gives it plenty of rewatch value.” He ignored Judas’ derisive snort that suggested his definition of said value was shaky at best.</p><p>“It’ll be nice to have Mom and Dad over, if nothing else.”</p><p>“Oh! Speaking of which.” Simon had the sort of gleam in his eye Jesus had come to recognise as either the start of an adventure or trouble. With his brother, the two were often interchangeable.</p><p>“How do you feel about theme parks?”</p><p>“It depends on the park,” Jesus replied. “Overrated,” said his boyfriend.</p><p>“Let me rephrase that. How do you feel about spending quality time with family at a theme park?”</p><p>“Is there anywhere else we can spend quality time that doesn’t involve long queues, sweaty mascots and sticky-fingered kids?” Judas asked as he brought three mugs of coffee to the table.</p><p>“Wow, life of the party, aren’t you?” Simon emptied the usual three spoonfuls of sugar into his brew. “You don’t have to come if you don’t want to.”</p><p>“Why <em>are </em>we discussing theme parks, anyway?” Jesus was used to Simon’s unpredictable trains of thought by now, but that didn’t make them easier to follow.</p><p>“Didn’t you hear me? Family time. You know, with our parents. Dad has expressed interest in experiencing the joy of rollercoasters.”</p><p>“After your extensive and repeated persuasive attempts, I presume.”</p><p>“You presume correctly, flesh of my flesh.”</p><p>Jesus refrained from countering Simon’s tendency to behave as if they shared any DNA whatsoever. After all, they <em>were </em>bound in a fashion. The small metal object that hung from a fine chain around his neck, resting always against his chest, was a reminder of that. It had saved his life once. He hoped it would not need to do so again.</p><p>“I’ve only been on a rollercoaster once,” he said, with fond recollections of a school trip when he was ten years old.</p><p>“I know. I was tampering with one of the safety bars, but you switched seats at the last minute.”</p><p>“Angelic intervention, probably.”</p><p>“That’s what I thought. Anyway, good thing that seat remained empty and no one died.”</p><p>Judas frowned at Simon. “Wait. Why were you even there at the time?”</p><p>“You forget the original reason for my existence, friend.”</p><p>“Yes, but – for fuck’s sake. He was a child!”</p><p>“So was <em>I.</em> Did Jesus never tell you the full story?” He poked his brother in the arm. “Jesus, tell him the whole story.”</p><p>Jesus promptly busied himself with clearing and washing the dishes. “<em>You</em> tell him.”</p><p> </p><p>~</p><p> </p><p>The late evening air was pleasantly cool, if slightly sticky from the throngs of people and the grease from fried foods pervading the air. As darkness settled over the theme park, the lights of various rides came to life and filled the landscape with their dizzying cheer. Jesus and his mom shared a large bag of cinnamon-dusted churros as they argued over which attractions to revisit. He had insisted his boyfriend be allowed to opt out; besides, they had company enough with Uryalh and Afryal in tow. The archdemons wore the guise of teenage humans – Uryalh was a pale, lanky boy with a shock of ginger hair, Afryal a bronze-skinned girl with a sharp black bob and permanently unimpressed expression.</p><p>Simon was only slightly disappointed in lacking someone to argue with over which rides to hop on and in which order. The disappointment evaporated as soon as he spotted the bright red rollercoaster towering above the rest. His childlike enthusiasm was so infectious that they all caught a good handful of it, even as Mary expressed concern about the dog. “I’ll stay with her on the ground,” she volunteered, only for her stepson to insist otherwise. “You forget she’s a hellhound,” he said with a grin. “It’ll take a lot more than falling off a rollercoaster to kill her.”</p><p>“I don’t <em>want </em>her to fall off!”</p><p>“Then tell her to hang on tight.”</p><p>Simon’s blithe confidence – while not always a guarantee of intended outcomes – turned out to be justified. As the car they were locked into began to tilt in ascension, Mary felt Bunny’s form elongate in an almost feline fashion until it was securely wrapped around her waist and arm. It was a rather pleasant feeling and an interesting contrast to the jarring sensation of being plunged from great heights. The demons, casting cloaking spells over themselves so as not to alarm park security, clambered onto the edges and hung on by an arm for added thrills; it would appear they had done this before and found it greatly therapeutic. Satan seemed to be enjoying himself in a way that someone might enjoy a very good cup of tea. His broad, genial smile at his sons’ whoops of enjoyment and Marys’ delighted screams suggested he was glad a good time was being had by all.</p><p>After two more thrill rides and a round on the spinning teacups that left the ground shifting beneath their feet when they stumbled off (Simon had charmed theirs to go twice as fast), they had spent an hour wandering the grounds and introducing Satan to various carnival snacks. Uryalh turned out to be a connoisseur in deep fried foods and sniffed at the onion rings of one stall while praising the merits of another in detail. Beside them, Bunny alternated between happy restlessness and growling at passers-by who got too close, occasionally snapping at an ankle. The owners of said ankles would look down in puzzlement; the plump chihuahua was masked by an invisibility charm so that no one who knew about the miniature hellhound’s existence would see her.</p><p>Satan never did get around to interrogating his son regarding her presence on earth. There were four or so methods of summoning otherworldly beings and binding them by the bestowing of a name. (He did not bother asking how his sons landed on ‘Bunny’.) Two of them required the sacrifice of an animal larger than a goat. He doubted Simon had wanted a dog <em>that</em> badly, despite his occasional pestering. That narrowed down the likely incidents significantly. And Satan thought he knew very well how the hound had ended up in Simon’s living room.</p><p>As if sensing his father was about to ask him some difficult questions, Simon pulled their attention to the performance taking place in the area where the crowd was parting to reveal a circle of performers. Naked save for leather kilts and silver anklets, their bodies painted with swirling patterns, the dancers swirled their torches in hypnotic circles and beckoned to the growing audience to witness their skilful manipulation of flame. Mary applauded and Bunny barked in a mix of excitement and aggression. Simon was practically dancing on the spot, looking like he was seconds away from becoming part of the performance.</p><p>Firmly ensconced in a buoyant mood, none of them initially noticed Jesus’ growing trepidation as he tensed with each billowing of fiery orange. His heart began racing anxiously, the warmth of the surrounding people suddenly suffocating. As he moved back to the edge while the rest drew closer to the circle of dancers, he was pushed forward by a bunch of eager onlookers just as one of the painted fire-breathers sent a cloud of flame flying in his direction –</p><p>– <em>A wall of blazing heat stole each breath from his lungs till he was gasping for air, his wrecked body still struggling to hang on to life. The smell of firewood and hay crackling around his feet. The smell of impending doom. He was trapped, surrounded by a crowd baying for his death, celebrating his torment with prayer and song. The flames were coming for him. God had long abandoned him. He was coughing his lungs raw, knowing that soon the screams of agony would come as the fire began to lick at his flesh…</em></p><p>From a distance he heard his mother calling his name. She could not save him now. No one could. Somehow he found his feet again; and then he was running, or stumbling wildly, until the fire was far behind him and he was alone with the cool night air. Except he couldn’t take in any of it. His lungs had forgotten how to breathe. Perhaps death had come to claim him at last; there was no escaping it a third time. He collapsed to his knees, feeling the world tilt as if he was still strapped into a funfair ride. The sharp hoarse sounds that escaped his throat were like those of a dying animal. Just as blackness teased the edges of his vision, he felt someone’s hands on hs shoulders, on his back, a voice telling him he was safe. The voice of his father.</p><p>“Nothing will harm you while I’m here,” said Satan. “I would not allow it.”</p><p>Tears stung his eyes as his body began to take in air again and the world came into focus. “Thank you.” He was suddenly reminded of their first meeting after the strange old man had pulled him from the chaos caused by the riot police and their gas canisters. His chest tightened again, but this time with emotions he could not name, except perhaps for gratitude. He leaned into Satan’s chest and realised he had no memories of being held by his birth father. Joseph was tender in other ways, but he had not been one for hugging save in times of distress. And Jesus had been too young when he died to know much of physical affection from him.</p><p>He felt Satan’s strong lithe arms take on an awkward quality as they attempted to properly embrace him. After a few seconds they settled around his shoulders in a way that was not exactly ideal, but still incredibly comforting.</p><p>“Oh, look,” came Simon’s voice, masking intense relief with the usual blitheness. “Dad finally learnt how to hug someone.”</p><p>Mary crouched beside them, the two demon-teenagers hovering protectively. “Are you alright?” Her hands cradled Jesus’ face as she kissed him on the forehead. “I am now. I’m sorry for making you worry.”</p><p>“No. I’m sorry.” Simon squeezed his hand. “I was the one who insisted we get close to the firebreathers. Didn’t think things through, as usual.”</p><p>Jesus shook his head adamantly as he rose back to his feet. “It’s not your fault. I didn’t know I’d react so badly.”</p><p>“Well. Please don’t tell your boyfriend though. He’d find a way to pin it on me.”</p><p>“Since when are you afraid of him?”</p><p>Simon punched him in the arm, and he smiled.</p><p>The giant ferris wheel lifted them high above the crowd, Afryal and Uryalh perched on the roof of the cart as they shared a large honey-glazed turkey leg. Simon dangled most of his torso out the opening of the door, causing Mary to roll her eyes while rubbing Bunny behind the ears. The dog was content to rest on her lap after a long day of snapping at people and sniffing at things. Satan had to admit she was good company, and more manageable than he had anticipated. It still didn’t mean his son should be allowed to summon creatures at a whim, though. He had only recently begun to realise he was a bit too indulgent with his sons. Not that Jesus gave anyone much cause for grief. His impossible spawn, on the other hand…</p><p>He reached out to yank Simon back by the collar just before the latter nearly fell out by leaning a bit too far. “If you land in a bloody mess on the ground and cause a scene, I’ll make you regret it,” he said in what he hoped was a sufficiently stern voice.</p><p>“Do you really think so little of me, Dad?” came the mock-hurt reply. “I’d catch myself way before that. Or Uryalh would have.”</p><p>“Actually, we’d just let you fall,” Afryal called from above. “In the spirit of curiosity.”</p><p>“I’ll remember your betrayal,” Simon hollered up at them, making a rude gesture before slipping back inside the cart and sitting back to take in the scenic view. After all of six seconds, he started shifting restlessly and asked: “Should we make this thing go faster?”</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0014"><h2>14. The Provisos of Power</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Angel politics are a bitch. Jesus punches someone for the first time in his life. The big book of magic makes its last appearance as a plot device.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p>
<p>To a departed soul seeking an eternity of peace and radiance, Heaven was indeed the paradise promised and advertised to the devout. To an angel, however, paradise came with conditions. And as Michael was beginning to find out, the ascension they had so ecstatically embraced came with its own share of barbs.</p>
<p>They had fallen weeping before God, broken and missing a limb, their wings in shreds, when Khamuel had led them back to the heart of Heaven. Michael was overwhelmed by gratitude as well as the knowledge that they were unworthy. Instead of the wrath or displeasure they had anticipated for once more failing to deliver to God His rightful son, they had been graced with praise – yes, praise! – for the success of the New Kingdom spreading the Lord’s word through the mouths of the famous and beautiful.</p>
<p>Before departing earth, Marcel had passed its torch of leadership to a woman named Ruth, who had been his steadfast right-hand woman from the start. As the Kingdom continued spreading its reach through the celebrity influencers who made a big show of renouncing their godless lives to embrace a newfound divinity, Michael was welcomed back into the fold, or so they had presumed. Their heart sang with joy when once more they were allowed to bathe in the glory of their Lord. No longer were they a lowly guardian. A great blossoming radiance filled them limb from limb as they were lifted to the rank of the cherubim – the Keepers of the Law. “Glory be to God,” they had whispered, spreading their newly radiant wings before ascending to join their higher brethren.</p>
<p>But if they had expected to be embraced by the brethren they had been torn from and now reunited with, such expectations were soon dashed. They found the cherubim to be somewhat distant if still faultlessly cordial. Only after much discernment from the many gathered whispers and what information the few friendly angels would offer did they begin to grasp the prevalent sentiment among the Keepers.</p>
<p>“I was carrying out my duties as ordained. Nothing more,” Michael had asserted.</p>
<p>“Yes, but among our ranks, there were those who…felt somewhat resentful of your punishing ways,”  one of the more receptive cherubs replied delicately. (Or, as a certain insolent demon-child would have said: “They thought you were a bit of a prick.”) “And when you fell – however briefly – from grace, those same angels were of the impression that you would not be returning.”</p>
<p>“I <em>have</em> returned. And more determined to serve than ever.”</p>
<p>“Yes. And you will soon assert some of your old authority, as you will feel compelled to.” The cherub made a gesture that spoke of the ancient and unchangeable way of things. “If you would do what is best for yourself, I advise you to refrain from exerting too much force too soon. Allow  the grace of God to guide you, as it guides us all. And be assured you will find peace.”</p>
<p>Michael could not help but bristle at such advice. They cursed their memory of having once been above this angel who now addressed them like a lowlier being who must know their place. After all that they had been through, surely they deserved better! And yet none seemed to acknowledge the magnitude of their experience, the knowledge they had won at the cost of painful disgrace.</p>
<p>The seraphim were similarly inclined to turn a cold shoulder. They were under the influence of God’s new golden child. Khamuel alone smiled at Michel as they bowed in reluctant obeisance before the Warlord of Heaven. Michael had once been in their place; of that they were well aware. As the diamond-hard eyes shone upon them, they felt the might of Khamuel’s ambition…and the determination to secure their place at the right hand of God, come what may.</p>
<p><em>None of these petty misgivings matter,</em> Michael told themself. <em>I have God on my side. I have been proven worthy of Him once more.</em> They passed through the different levels and dimensions, glancing upon the souls of those who had earned their reward in God’s kingdom after a lifetime of devotion or through acts of charity that outweighed their human faults. They murmured praise and reached out to let their hands brush Michael’s wings as the newly ascended cherub passed them by.</p>
<p><em>I need none but the love of my lord, </em>Michael thought, allowing  the same sentiment to flow through their ethereal being to the reverent souls around them. <em>And His mercy</em> <em>shall guide me. </em></p>
<p>God’s pronouncements were indisputable, His judgment final. Through humility in the face of dishonour and their tireless endeavour to regain it, they had won their rightful place in Heaven.</p>
<p>So why did they feel as if they no longer belonged in it?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>~</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Jesus came home from work in a sour mood after four unrelated and very difficult customers had, through some perverse force of the universe or planetary alignment, all chosen to patronize the bakery on the same day. Judas was still out when he got home, which on one hand left him with no one to bitch at about the worst eight hours he had ever spent at work. On the bright side, it meant he had a stretch of peace and quiet in which to unwind.</p>
<p>As he was retrieving a cold beer from the fridge, his brother materialised without warning. He jerked backward and dropped the bottle, which shattered and sent lager spewing all over the tiles. “Can you stop doing that??” he yelled. The harshness in his voice was as startling to him as to Simon. He realised his hands were trembling and folded his arms to hide them.</p>
<p>“I’m sorry, dude – ”</p>
<p>“No, you’re not! And you’ll just do it again the next time, so why bother apologizing?” Jesus grabbed a rag and was about to mop up the mess when Simon stopped him andstared at the puddle until it began coalescing to take on the form of the glass shards enclosing it, jagged edges sealing until the bottle was whole again and every last drop of beer contained within it. Simon picked it up and blew on it to create a fine layer of frost.</p>
<p>“Will miracles never cease,” Jesus murmured as he grudgingly took the proffered bottle and downed a mouthful. The golden lager was perfectly, wonderfully chilled.</p>
<p>“Stressful day at work?”</p>
<p>“Just stupid customers – four of them in a day. Nothing I shouldn’t be able to handle, though.”</p>
<p>“Did you make sure they won’t be coming back? Mom would have.”</p>
<p>“She wasn’t there today. She wasn’t feeling well, so I insisted I was alright on my own. Turns out I can’t do shit.” He sighed and emptied half the bottle. Simon fixed him with a penetrating look, for once not bothering to hide his concern. “You’re really not yourself today, huh.”</p>
<p>“Thank you for stating the obvious.”</p>
<p>“Damn. Almost sounded like your boyfriend there.”</p>
<p>“I’m just tired.” He tried to smile; even the small effort felt strenuous. “I’ll be fine.”</p>
<p>“Tired’s not the reason for those shaking hands.”</p>
<p>Jesus threw him a defensive look before he realised the pointlessness of hiding the tremors that even now still made his fingers twitch. He sighed. “Just one of those days, I guess.” One of too many days. A fact that both knew and neither felt the need to state.</p>
<p>Simon was irritatingly observant even at the best of times, and didn’t miss the surreptitious wiping of stray tears that he masked as rubbing at tired eyes. “Hey.” His voice was soft as he squeezed Jesus’ shoulder. “You don’t need to be afraid.”</p>
<p>“I’m not afr – ” He bit off the blatant lie. Even now his sinews were seizing up in anticipation of some phantom threat that filled him with anxiety. “Give me a good reason not to be.”</p>
<p>“Nothing will happen to you while I’m around.”</p>
<p>“Plenty has happened while you’re around.” Jesus tried too late to bite back his words, his heart sinking at the flash of hurt on his brother’s face before it was replaced by the usual blasé front.</p>
<p>“You know, maybe if you stopped pushing people away, they could actually help you in time.”</p>
<p>“I do <em>not</em> push people aw – ”</p>
<p>“Maybe,” Simon continued in a louder volume, “if you stopped living in denial about everything, they could at least help you pull your head out of your ass.”</p>
<p>The bottle landed almost hard enough to break it again. “Get out.”</p>
<p>Simon just stared with hands on his hips. “Make me.”</p>
<p>“Are you trying to make me hit you or something?”</p>
<p>“Actually, yes. I think you need to hit something.</p>
<p>“No.”</p>
<p>“And I’m volunteering to be that something. You’re welcome.” When he sat unmoving, Simon reached over and pushed him in the chest.</p>
<p>“What are you doing – ”</p>
<p>“Hit me.”</p>
<p>“No!”</p>
<p>“Hit me. Do it.” Another shove. Simon’s breath was right in his face now.</p>
<p>“Get <em>out!</em>”</p>
<p>“Hit me!”</p>
<p>Simon kept pushing him, watching him simmer, then start to boil over. His face reddened as he went rigid from head to toe in a strained attempt to hold himself back.</p>
<p>“Come on! DO IT! Do something for once in your life, you wimp!”</p>
<p>A guttural sound tore itself from Jesus’ throat as he grabbed Simon and threw him to the floor before flying at him with fingers that curled into fists without him realising it until he felt the impact against his knuckles. He tried to pull back, but some part of him kept going like a relentless engine that had been in stasis too long and now refused to stop, a coursing river savagely rejoicing in the floodgates being lifted. Simon’s retaliations were uncharacteristically subdued; even his defensive blocks met the blows only halfway, mostly allowing them to land on his face and belly and anywhere else Jesus cared to hit. Not that most of the hits were in any way strategic. The attack was mindless, full of strength but not directed force. Simon could have ended the fight in seconds, but he let it continue, knowing his brother needed it.</p>
<p>After an indeterminate length of time Jesus pried himself away, panting and wide-eyed and drained of anger. “I-I’m sorry,” he whispered. The rage in his eyes cleared as he stared at the darkening welt on Simon’s cheek and the split lip that was already mending itself. “What did I just do?”</p>
<p>“What any normal person with over a decade of pent-up stress would. Or just enough terrible customers in one day. That’ll do it, too.” Simon scrunched his face in concentration until his messed-up hair was in place again. “Also, your punches are <em>terrible.</em> Have you never been in a fight?”</p>
<p>“Not a physical one.” Jesus smiled ruefully. “I’m sorry. You shouldn’t have…I didn’t mean to go at you like that.”</p>
<p>“No harm done.” True enough, the marks of assault were gone within seconds. “And you needed it. Feel better now, don’t you?”</p>
<p>He realised that the tightness in his chest and shoulders had lifted, and he no longer felt on the verge of tears. “I do.”</p>
<p>“Good.” Simon wrapped him in one of those tight, python-like hugs he had come to cherish.</p>
<p>“Can’t be healthy, though,” he said when Simon released him. “I can’t just punch someone whenever I feel terrible.”</p>
<p>“You’d be surprised at the health benefits of the occasional honourable duel. Next time I promise to punch back.”</p>
<p>As Jesus was about to mention that his definition of honour was loose at best, Simon’s eyes blanked out and glazed over as his face went slack. The effect passed after a second or two; he shook his head to clear it.</p>
<p>“Dad wants me for a bit. I’ve told him to just call like a normal person, but does he listen?”</p>
<p>“ ‘Normal person’ hardly describes our dad.”</p>
<p>“You have a point. Especially when you've seen his interior design choices.”</p>
<p>"Says the person with the neon orange walls."</p>
<p>"Neon green now, actually." Simon clapped him on the back. “I’ll see you in a bit. Maybe for dinner. We can go get phở at that Vietnamese place you like.</p>
<p>“Sounds good to me.”</p>
<p>With a playful salute, his brother disappeared.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>~</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You need to start thinking of your own safety as well as that of others,” Satan said before his son managed to shove the first helping of gelato into his mouth. He had developed a great fondness for ice cream and found their favourite gelato café – a small, cosy place with white brick walls and the right level of ambient music – to be conducive for such conversations.</p>
<p>“Can’t believe the Ruler of Hell never learnt how to open a conversation,” Simon replied impudently as he swallowed a heaping spoon of blue bubblegum-flavoured ice cream. “Whatever happened to ‘Nice to see you, son, how you doing, hope you didn’t destroy anything significant on your way here’?”</p>
<p>“<em>Did</em> you destroy anything?” Satan’s eyebrows rose in a manner that would have been frightening to someone who wasn’t Simon.</p>
<p>“Only a few egos.” Simon squeezed his father’s hand. “You did make me near invincible, Dad. Too late to take that back.” He smiled until Satan followed suit. But the moment of levity couldn’t hide the fact of something weighing heavy on the shoulders that were currently clad in a well-tailored jacket.</p>
<p>“Few things in life are more worrying than distrust of those closest to you,” he said.</p>
<p>He blinked. “Wow. I’m hurt. Haven’t I proven to be honest and reliable? OK, maybe not reliable exactly, but – ”</p>
<p>“I’m talking about the Archdemon General.”</p>
<p>“Oh. Mkkall? I thought he was cool.”</p>
<p>“I thought so too.”</p>
<p>Simon’s skin crawled at the thought of betrayers among the other demons. The thought of someone like Uryalh turning traitor was almost unbearable. “Please tell me they’re the only one on your caution list.”</p>
<p>“Yes, for now. The rest have proven nothing but trustworthy. Although…” Satan frowned thunderously. “There are ways of colluding with Heavenly parties that are beyond even my sight. If any other were to betray us, we might not know about it until it’s too late.”</p>
<p>“But you’re <em>sure </em>Mkkall has turned?”</p>
<p>“No. Nothing is sure. I know only what Jrbral told me, of the exchange that took place during the last Market gathering.” Satan looked morosely at his barely touched scoop of double chocolate; Simon noticed he had charmed it to remain unmelting.</p>
<p>“Neither they nor whats-its-name…”</p>
<p>“Khamuel. God’s new battle-hungry golden child.”</p>
<p>“Right. Mkkall and Khamuel didn’t come to an agreement, did they?”</p>
<p>“Unfortunately, no one was around to hear the end of that conversation. But better to be safe than…well.” Satan pushed his ice cream towards Simon. “It’s incredibly good. Perhaps another time I’ll be in a better mood to enjoy it.”</p>
<p>Simon promptly devoured half of it in five seconds. “It’s better than the bubblegum,” he declared.</p>
<p>“Is it, though? You had a most intense fondness for such varieties of candy when you were little. So I was told.”</p>
<p>“I do remember that.” Simon sniggered at the memory of traumatizing (mostly by accident) a score of primary schoolchildren with his tendency to get chewing gum stuck in someone’s hair.</p>
<p>“Speaking of which, why even go through the whole troublesome kid phase? Why didn’t you just make me a full-grown assassin?”</p>
<p>“I could have.” Satan looked thoughtful, solemn. “I suppose – as you would say – it was simply more fun this way.”</p>
<p>Simon grinned. His father had, after all, been the original Great Rebel who was given to doing things for no other reason than to stick it to God. “It began as an act of blasphemy,” Satan added, confirming his suspicions. “Making a child, an unnatural creature, outside of the sacred act of creation designed and governed by the Almighty Creator.”</p>
<p>“And here I was thinking you were the one who introduced the idea of procreation. Assuming Adam and Eve weren’t complete fiction.”</p>
<p>“A gross simplification, rather. You may name them what you like – they were simply two of the first of humankind. Everything else was made up. Humans were once apes, and apes were once something else, and everything was going perfectly to God’s Plan until he made me.”</p>
<p>“And then history repeated itself when <em>you</em> made me.”</p>
<p>“You could say it did. History has a habit of doing that.”</p>
<p>Simon licked the last of the chocolate off his spoon. “So what do you want me to do? Assuming you asked me out for something other than gelato.”</p>
<p>Satan’s tone grew sombre. “I’m only asking you to do the impossible.”</p>
<p>“Challenge accepted.”</p>
<p>“Lie low and stay out of sight.”</p>
<p>“Sorry. Can I un-accept the challenge?”</p>
<p>“Don’t get into any fights or clashes with any party, angel or human. Stay out of Hell, even – until I ascertain that none of its denizens are defectors.” Satan glared him down until he felt the heat of the deep, endless eyes burn the hairs on his neck and penetrate his very soul in a way that was extremely discomfiting. “That is an order, not a challenge.”</p>
<p>Simon actually shrank a little. It was a first for him. “Got it.”</p>
<p>Satan did not retract his piercing stare until he was very sure Simon had absorbed the message. “It would be best for you to stay with your brother for the next month or so.”</p>
<p>“That’s…kind of…unreasonably long – ”</p>
<p>“A month is nothing.”</p>
<p>“Not to someone who’s lived for millennia, it’s not.”</p>
<p>Before Satan could paralyse him with another glare, Simon’s phone saved him with its insistent buzzing. He fished it from his pocket with relief that quickly turned to alarm when he heard the voice on the other end. Judas sounded like someone was strangling him as he choked out: “Get your ass over here <em>now.</em>”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>*</p>
<p>Some time after Simon departed, Jesus noticed he had dropped his wallet. Most likely it had dislodged from one of his many pockets during the wild tussle he could barely believe he had been a part of. The knuckles on his left hand still faintly ached from where they had collided with Simon’s cheekbone.</p>
<p>He picked it up and opened it without thinking, expecting to see the false driver’s licence and other such documents his brother kept on hand for when he needed to pass as a registered human being, or was held up by uniformed personnel for some shenanigan or other. Instead his eyes fell on ancient pages filled with tiny illegible runes.</p>
<p>“Shit – ”</p>
<p>Even in its shrunken wallet-like form, the grimoire’s power was terrifying. It lodged itself firmly in place when he tried to drop it as if glued to his skin. Invisible fingers gripped his arms; sharp, invisible nails sliced into his wrists. He watched in dread as red rivulets were drawn steadily from the precise cuts into the pages. Whispers in a language as old as time filled the air, pouring into his head. He could not shut them out. Nor could he tear himself from the book that grew in size as it fed on his blood. <em>Let go of me,</em> he tried to plead, except his words came out all twisted. From a distance he heard the lock turning and the door opening to admit a horrified Judas. He heard his beloved calling his name and could not answer in anything but a freakishly garbled tongue as he fell to his knees and the world began to spin.</p>
<p>“Let go of that thing!” Judas yelled. He pulled at the book, ignoring its scalding heat. Jesus’ hands were slick with his own blood even as the pages soon soaked it up like a sponge and kept drawing more. Judas finally succeeded in prying the leather cover from where it had adhered to Jesus’ fingers. The achievement came at a price – as the book fell to the floor, ice-cold electric jolts shot up his arms and into his shoulders and spine.</p>
<p>“Fuck!” he exclaimed as he collapsed onto his side, finding most of his body had gone rigid. His entire face was attempting to lock itself into place so that he could barely move his jaw, could barely blink. Freed from the grimoire’s hold over him, Jesus stumbled to where the now full-sized tome lay to try and close it, only to be repelled by what felt like a blast of hot sand. He looked about for something to throw on it, but his movements were sluggish, weakened from blood loss and whatever else the book had taken from him. And all the while the susurrus of whispers in the air thickened with a malevolent triumph.</p>
<p>With the last of the freedom left to his lower arm, Judas managed to dislodge his phone and hit one of the numbers on his speed dial. “Get your ass over here now,” he growled before the paralysis took over his entire body and his mouth was frozen in a painful rictus. He could only watch helplessly as Jesus collapsed unconscious beside him, still bleeding from the cuts in his wrists that grotesquely mirrored the scars on Judas’ own.</p>
<p>There was a loud crackling in the air and the tang of gunpowder as Simon materialised with his father in tow. The book was being slammed shut; the voices faded into an echo and disappeared. Judas felt Satan’s hand on his neck, stone-cool at first then turning hot, sending a rush of warmth through his body that loosened the force locking his muscles in place. He rose, shaken and panting, immediately crawling over to where his boyfriend lay pale and unmoving. Silvery gauze-like ribbons were emerging from Satan’s fingers and winding themselves around the wounded wrists to stem the bleeding. Simon looked openly distraught, which was a terribly alarming sight.</p>
<p>“I’m sorry,” he said in a tearful voice as Satan looked at him with such graveness that Judas could feel the weight despite it not being directed at him. “I should never have taken it.”</p>
<p>“No, you shouldn’t. But what’s done is done. Fortunately no one has died yet.” Satan lifted the grimoire from where it had left a scorched outline on the floor. “Or rather, enough have died. This book has taken countless lives. And it is always greedy for more.”</p>
<p>“So <em>that's</em> why I lost an arm," Simon said in realisation, referring to the breakout from his prison in Hell where his father had tried to keep him safe. "I thought it was the explosion that did it." </p>
<p>“And yet you learnt nothing.”</p>
<p>"Apparently not."</p>
<p>Satan sighed at Simon’s fallen face. He loathed to see either of his children miserable for long. “All I am saying is that you should have known when to return it. You earned the right to it fairly – no doubt spilling your own blood to do so – and used it well, to a degree. But this book takes as much as it gives. Even after centuries, I still don’t know the full extent of the harm it is capable of.”</p>
<p>He looked over to where Judas was lowering Jesus onto the couch, pushing a pillow beneath his head. “Still, whatever they gained from it may prove useful in time. Provided there are no ill effects.”</p>
<p>“Are you saying they…absorbed something?”</p>
<p>“Unless they managed to summon another hound – and <em>yes,</em> I know how Bunny came to be – I would hazard a guess that they might have acquired some new abilities.” Satan shook his head. “But these things are unpredictable; no one knows when they will surface, or how.”</p>
<p>“Interesting.” He looked up with a sheepish grin. “And I’m sorry about Bunny. She’s a good dog, though. Mom loves her to bits.”</p>
<p>“I cannot say I regret her presence. Although I’ll thank you not to get another dog unless it’s from a shelter.”</p>
<p>“I think I’ll settle for a hamster.”</p>
<p>“Hmm. Well. I’m off to put this back where it belongs.” The grimoire disappeared into the fold of his jacket. “Do not step into my library ever again. Not now that it knows your scent.”</p>
<p>Simon nodded.</p>
<p>“And stay hidden until I tell you otherwise.”</p>
<p>This was met with a small groan, but Simon knew better than to object. Shortly after his dad exited, he heard the rustling sound of a protective barrier being drawn around the house. He turned to see Judas glaring at him.</p>
<p>“You need to save your strength for glaring when it really matters,” he said, lying on the floor with a sigh. “Seeing as you’re stuck with me for at least the next few weeks.”</p>
<p>“We’re stuck with the idiot who let a murderous book into the house?” Judas looked like he longed to put a fist through Simon’s face, held back only by the residual stiffness in his limbs that had yet to completely fade. “I don’t know if your dad thought this plan through.”</p>
<p>“I don’t know if he has a plan,” Simon replied. What he didn’t add was: <em>But I do. And it involves ending the war before it even begins.</em></p>
<p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Knowing the inconsistent results of Simon having any sort of plan, only time will tell if it succeeds. Who knows? Certainly not me, the author, making this up as I go along</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0015"><h2>15. Miracles</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>The boyfriends discover what gifts they got from their dark fairy godmother aka Satan's book of murder. The threat of God's army of angels looms larger. Gabriel's discovery of bread is greater than any God-given gift, apparently.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This chapter felt like it took forever to finish, whether due to normal writer's block or because I was also working on an original short story for a contest submission or just because it's not that great and my brain subconsciously feels it. Here's hoping you're still entertained or at least engaged enough to stay with me. </p><p>And as always, drop a comment to let me know what you liked, if anything. Even a few words of feedback count and gives me a hint as to what works :D</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>Jesus awoke some time in the night, unable for a moment to recall what had happened and why it had gone dark outside. He sat up and was immediately hit with a wave of dizziness. The living room spun and tilted as he fell back on the couch with a groan. “Good, you’re alive,” came his mother’s relieved utterance. “How long does your immortal body takes to regenerate blood? I was this close to dragging you to a hospital.”</p><p>Bunny hopped onto his chest to lick his face until Mary pulled her off. “Not now, Bunny.”</p><p>“Mom. You shouldn’t have come…”</p><p>She made a sound of dismissal. “Do you think I could stay away when I heard what happened?”</p><p>“They shouldn’t have told you. I don’t want you to – ”</p><p>“If you don’t stop worrying for ten minutes, I will knock you back out.” She pressed a hand to his face. “At least you’ve warmed up. You felt like ice when I first got here.”</p><p>She pulled the blanket over him, and he felt a comforting heaviness of at his limbs until he recalled that the last thing he had seen before passing out was his boyfriend lying on the floor, stiff with excruciating pain. “Where’s Judas? Is he alright?” He tried to rise again, slowly this time, fighting the nausea that crept up his throat.</p><p>“He was still hurting a bit when I arrived. Not that it stopped him from fussing and pacing about like a maniac until I insisted on taking over. He’ll be fine with enough rest.” A thunderous look took over her face, not unlike the one Satan had worn when staring down his son. “It’s a good thing your father took back that damned book. I’d have given Simon a good talking-to if he didn’t already look like a wreck.”</p><p>Jesus felis heart clench at the thought of his irrepressible sibling so tormented. “He doesn’t need to beat himself up like that. Where is he?”</p><p>“He’s right here.” Simon, with his weirdly unerring instinct for knowing when he was wanted, popped up behind Mary. “And he’ll be here for a while because dad has basically placed him under house arrest.”</p><p>“Why is that?”</p><p>“Some fuckery or other going on between demons and angels – suspected backstabbing, political machinations, all that stuff.” He reached down to pat Bunny. She snarled and snapped at his fingers before Mary told her to back down while shaking her head at Simon. “You knew she would do that.”</p><p>“Just giving her a chance to love me. Someday she will.”</p><p>“Oh, I’m sure.” She rose to her feet. “I’m going to grab some tea. Be gentle, Bunny,” she added to the dog. Bunny yipped in acknowledgment as she leapt onto the sofa again and snuggled in the crook of Jesus’ arm. He couldn’t help being amused at Simon’s air of restlessness.</p><p>“You’ve barely been here half a day,” he commented.</p><p>“More like two and a half days.”</p><p>“I’ve been out for two and a half days??” He shot up on his feet before keeling forward, narrowly avoiding falling face-first on to the floor. Simon caught Bunny as she slid off Jesus’ lap; she mistook this for an attack and emitted a flurry of aggressive barks before sinking her teeth into his calf. He yelped and stumbled to the floor, pulling Jesus with him as they landed in a heap of tangled limbs while Bunny kept barking until Mary came to pull her off with a stern reprimand.</p><p>Simon pulled up his pant leg to reveal a nasty, bloody gash. “Dang. That looks bad even for you, Bunny.”</p><p>Jesus’ eyes widened as he pushed the fabric up further to get it away from the wound. “She bit right through to the bone,” he cringed. The grotesque sight was not helping the residual nausea still squeezing his insides.</p><p>“Do you need anything to stem the bleeding?” asked Mary, instinctively anxious despite being familiar with Simon’s prodigious self-healing abilities.</p><p>“I’m good. Hurts like a bitch, but…” Simon’s reply trailed off as he stared at the jagged tear in his flesh mended at a speed even he was incapable of. In the space of two breaths, the skin was as good as new, with not so much as the faintest scar. “Wow. Did I do that? Pretty sure I did not do that.”</p><p>“You’re probably stronger than you realise,” said his brother. “You grew back a whole arm in just weeks.”</p><p>“Took over a month to get the fingers complete, actually.” Simon narrowed his eyes. “You were touching my leg when it healed, weren’t you?”</p><p>Before Jesus could reply, Simon whipped out a switchblade and sliced off his little finger. Mary swore and spilt half her tea on the floor. “What are you doing?” Jesus exclaimed.</p><p>“Quick – pick it up and put it back."</p><p>“What? Put <em>what </em>back??”</p><p>“My finger, dumbass. Before the skin mends. Hurry!”</p><p>Without knowing why, Jesus fumbled for the severed digit, trying not to drop it. The feel of the detached finger in his hand made him sick. In accordance with the urgent instructions, he pressed it to the small bleeding stump on Simon’s hand. Immediately the flesh and bone pulled itself together, erasing all trace of their separation until the finger was whole and unmarred.</p><p>“That was you,” Simon said with breathless glee. “It was all you. You can heal wounds now. Totally worth a two-day coma, if you ask me.”</p><p>“Right,” Jesus replied, and promptly threw up into Simon’s lap.</p><p> </p><p>~</p><p> </p><p>At around the same time Jesus was discovering his newfound ability, scores of angels patrolled the streets unseen on the lookout for one wayward and dangerous Hell-born child. Their missive was simple: secure the Antichrist by any means necessary. They did not know the reason for his capture, nor did they need to. God did, after all, work in mysterious ways. They were told only that the acquisition and imprisonment of Satan’s own was crucial in the victory of Heaven over earth – and in the battle for each human soul on it.</p><p>For now, the inhabitants of the ever-bustling corner lot bakery flanked by shiny office towers remained blissfully unaware of the angels. An invisible barrier stood all around the old art deco building, one that could be felt only if you were expecting it in the form of a faint tingling. The Open sign appeared twenty minutes on the dot before the first of the regulars started streaming in. These days they were often greeted by a lanky androgynous youth with a nose ring and a mop of dreads known simply as Gabe. “Try the ginger-and-clove biscuits,” he urged new customers with an infectious smile. “They’re a Friday-only special.” One woman was busy emptying half the shelf of attractively packed biscuits before laying them on every spare inch of the small cashier counter. She had been one of the new patrons from last Friday, and had evidently been smitten with her first taste of the spice-laced confections.</p><p>Gabriel had only recently begun to fully grasp the human fondness for baked goods. Angels were able to mimic the act of consumption, but could neither taste nor feel whatever they ate and drank. Becoming corporeal may have resulted in a loss of the abilities even the lowest guardian angel took for granted, but it did come with certain pleasures they could not have previously imagined. They vividly remembered the first time they had coffee: the shocking bitterness, the stunningly complex underlying flavours that followed, the aroma that smelt so incredibly different than it had when they were made of angelic matter. And it was absolutely intriguing how different coffee and tea tasted with milk, and how there were varieties of milk, each with their own texture and taste.</p><p>But if liquids were a fascinating journey all their own, solid foods were doubly, triply complex. When Mary had decided that the bakery needed more help, she had enlisted the former angel, who had been thankful to not have to go through the utterly foreign process of job-hunting. The first bite of cheese-stuffed sourdough had filled them with such bliss they could have sworn they were back in Heaven. Except Heaven held no such ecstatic joys as a crusty golden loaf eaten with a simple dollop of butter – ah, butter! A singularly exceptional experience all its own, taking on such a variety of glorious forms and lending flavour in ten different ways according to how it was used and at what temperature. Gabriel would have gladly accepted bread as currency the way Simon accepted doughnuts in exchange for sourcing truckloads of supplies for discount rates. But Mary, practical as always, reminded them that one needed actual currency to pay for things like rent and clothing and running water. “The downside of earthly life is needing earthly things to survive,” she said. “Life is hard; the baked goods help make up for that.”</p><p>Shortly after the glut of morning customers tapered off, a couple of demons turned up to get four loaves of Satan’s favourite poppy seed challah. With their ever-varying human forms, Mary was able to tell who was who only when they opened their mouths. “Hell is really living up to its reputation today,” said the grey-haired lady who sounded a lot like Uryalh.</p><p>“I don’t understand,” said the unfamiliar character beside the lady, a broad-shouldered young man. “Didn’t expect you to,” said Uryalh dryly.</p><p>“We haven’t been acquainted,” Mary said to the young man as Gabriel went to fetch the challah.</p><p>“Shryel. They’re new, and a bit dim. They’ll be in charge of day-to-day errands; I thought I would accompany them on a few of the important ones on my way to work. Bread runs being among them. Consider this their orientation day.”</p><p>“Nice to meet you.” Gabriel handed the neatly wrapped loaves to Shryel.</p><p>“Well, I have got to be off. The boss is in a real mood today. I haven’t seen him in such a state since…oh, since the second time he tried to save your boy. Which I suppose is not terribly long ago.”</p><p>“Does he ever regret adopting?” Mary asked with a small smile.</p><p>“It’s hard to say. Satan gets strangely attached to things…and sometimes people, once every few centuries. One never knows when it will happen.”</p><p>“I’m glad he chose to protect my son. And I’m glad for Simon. He’s always needed a sibling. My husband died before we could give him one, but.”</p><p>“Simon was the one who chose your son. And convinced his father to do so. One of the better life choices he’s made.”</p><p>“I hope Satan agrees.”</p><p>“Oh, well. Perhaps it’s age or something, but the boss is getting soft.” The old lady’s painted lips curved in a smile. “Just between you and me, I don’t think there’s anything Satan wouldn’t do for his kids.”</p><p> </p><p>~</p><p> </p><p>“The fuck, dude! You broke my nose!”</p><p>“Can’t believe the man who grows ears and fingers back in an hour is being a wimp about a nosebleed.”</p><p>“It’s the <em>principle</em> of the thing.” Simon charmed away the specks of blood on his t-shirt as his nose straightened itself out. “You don’t attack someone unless it’s justified.”</p><p>Judas picked up the cigarette he had dropped and resumed his enjoyment of it. “I told you the last time you did that, I’d punch you in the face. I’m a man of my word.” By ‘that’ Judas was referring to Simon’s perennially annoying habit of materializing suddenly and in a way that violated the boundaries of one’s personal space. It should also be noted that Judas’ personal space had a minimum of a three-foot radius and, with rare exceptions, did not admit anyone who wasn’t his boyfriend.</p><p>“Shouldn’t you be outdoors?”</p><p>“And why is that?”</p><p>“Jesus hates it when the furniture smells of your nicotine addiction.”</p><p>“Tell me something I don’t already know.” Judas exhaled a cloud of smoke. “Let him bitch. At least he’ll have something to distract him from the next anxiety attack.”</p><p>They both grew sombre for a bit before Simon asked: “Is he still…?”</p><p>“Doesn’t happen as much anymore. Good thing he’s got you to throw a fist into, at least. He needs it sometimes.”</p><p>“For your information, I do not exist to serve as both your punching bags.”</p><p>“Of course not. You’re Jesus’ punching bag. I only hit you when you deserve it.”</p><p>“Fair enough.” Simon poked him hard in the arm. “Would you say that’s deserving?”</p><p>Judas rolled his eyes. “What are you, five?” This remark only earned him another poke. “What the – ” And another. Judas shoved him away, only for him to bounce back. “Listen, just because your dad has grounded you doesn’t mean I have to put up with your shit.”</p><p>“So don’t.” Simon shoved him back once, twice.</p><p>“Back. The fuck. <em>Off.</em>”</p><p>Simon withdrew accordingly, a gleeful grin on his face. “Did you hear that?”</p><p>“Hear what?”</p><p>“Your voice went funny. And your eyes were glowing for a bit.”</p><p>Judas glared and shook his head. “I’m going for a walk,” he muttered, heading towards the door. He was promptly thwarted by Simon barrelling right into him. “You <em>little shit –” </em></p><p>His vision went blazing blue-white for a second or two. He heard Simon yelp the way someone wold if they landed their hand on a hot stove. Then his head cleared as he felt a faint electrical current running down his limbs, ending at his fingertips before fading off.</p><p>“What just happened??” He looked at Simon, whose hair was sticking out oddly in different directions. The latter held up his palms so he could see they were a blistering red, even if the skin was already healing.</p><p>“You did that.” Simon was grinning like a mad scientist whose creation had come to life.</p><p>“I would apologize if you didn’t look a bit too happy about it.”</p><p>“<em>You</em> should be happy. This is what the book gave you!”</p><p>“What…your dad’s murder book? Seriously?”</p><p>“Yeah. Your boyfriend got healing powers, and you got some kind of electric burn attack.”</p><p>“Jesus got what?” He frowned. “You’d think by now he would stop keeping important things like that from me.”</p><p>“Alas, he never learns.”</p><p>He looked down at his hands. “How do I know if I can do it again, on demand?”</p><p>“I don’t know. Want me to attack you again?”</p><p>“Maybe another day.”</p><p>“You might as well make use of me now, you know.”</p><p>“What’s the hurry? You’re here for another two, three weeks. At which point my sanity will be a thing of history, but it’s a sacrifice I’ve come to terms with.”</p><p>Simon’s smile was oddly cryptic. “Your sanity should be intact. I’ll be gone sooner than you think.”</p><p>Judas wondered what he meant by that statement, but his attention was drawn by the realisation that it was past nine p.m. “Where the heck is Jesus? He should be back by now. He’d text if he was delayed.”</p><p>“Beats me.” Simon called his brother, turning on the speaker so they could both hear if he answered. The beeping went on and on, and on.</p><p>Judas sent a string of messages that went unanswered until over an hour later, during which he drove out to stash up on cigarettes, came home, and continued harassing his boyfriend with unanswered texts while smoking half a pack as Simon made a snarky comment or two about how he should try something stronger. “Like weed. I already have a stash, actually. It hardly works on me, so you might as well have it.”</p><p>Judas was about to accept his offer when his phone buzzed. He had never answered a call so fast in his life. “Where the bloody fuck are you?”</p><p>“I’m sorry. I should have called back sooner.”</p><p>“Never mind that. Are you OK?”</p><p>“I’m good. I’ll be back in about twenty minutes.”</p><p>“You don’t sound too good. Do you need me to – <em>dammit!</em>” The line had gone dead.</p><p>Half an hour passed before there was a sound at the gate. Jesus looked unharmed and greeted Judas with a smile, but the slump of his shoulders indicated he was exhausted. “Please tell me you haven’t done anything stupid,” said Judas.</p><p>“Depends what you define as stupid.” Jesus frowned as they entered the living room. “Has someone been smoking weed in here?”</p><p>Simon waved at him. “We both have. That’s what you get for stressing us out by going missing for hours.”</p><p>He managed another small, strained smile. “Fair enough.” Jesus headed straight to the bedroom, moving at a sluggish pace. Judas found it his lack of reaction suspicious, to say the least; he had braced himself for an hour-long argument and was discomfited when it failed to make an appearance. He looked back at Simon, who only shrugged, a small frown betraying his concern.</p><p>Jesus had managed to kick off his jeans but evidently lacked the energy to unbutton his shirt and had given up halfway, falling into bed half undressed. Judas rolled him onto his side to help him get the remaining garment off before retrieving one of his over-sized t-shirts that Jesus liked to wear to bed sometimes and pulled it on over his head. He made a small sound of gratitude as he tugged the sleeves over his arms, unable to keep his eyes open any longer. Judas couldn’t help noticing how worn out he looked. Even his skin was slightly cold to the touch.</p><p>“Will you ever stop finding new ways to be an idiot?” he muttered as he slid beneath the covers and pulled his beloved close. Jesus murmured something in reply and snuggled into the curve of his body. It was admittedly an extremely pleasant sensation, motivating him to stay put despite being two hours away from his usual bedtime. He stretched out an arm to reach for his book on the bedside table and went through five or so pages before the soft weight of Jesus’ head on his chest and the light warmth of the slow, even breaths washing over him eventually lulled him to sleep.</p><p>It wasn’t till two days later when Jesus came home mysteriously drained once more, hours after his shift at the bakery had ended, that Judas knew what he had been hiding. At least he wasn’t on the verge of passing out this time. He dropped onto the sofa and leaned back with eyes closed, opening them only when Judas sat beside him to show him the news feature displayed on his phone screen. <em>Hospital sees 11 ‘miracle recoveries’, </em>the headline declared. The subhead added: <em>20 wounded leave emergency section mysteriously cured.</em></p><p>“Don’t try to tell me you had nothing to do with this,” said Judas.</p><p>“So Simon has told you.”</p><p>“Only because it didn’t occur to<em> you</em> to tell me.”</p><p>Jesus ran his hands over his face, kneading at tired eyes. “I’m sorry. You’d have tried to stop me, and I…” He bit his lip, looking almost as restless as he was exhausted. “I can’t just do nothing.”</p><p>“Yes, you can. I just found out that I can electrocute people with my skin or something.”</p><p>“Really?”</p><p>“And yet I’m still not a vigilante with a terrible burn-based pun for a name.”</p><p>This made Jesus smile, lifting some of the fatigue from his face. “Sounds like something Simon would think of.”</p><p>“It was. But you get my point.”</p><p>“Why <em>shouldn’t </em>I help people just because I can?”</p><p>“You’re not doing it ‘because you can’. You do it because you feel…responsible, somehow. Except you’re not. We got hit at random by a magic fucking book. You didn’t summon the old high gods asking for the power to change the world. You weren’t even born with such abilities.” Judas sighed. “It’s not your…your destiny to be any kind of superhero, no matter what you were told when you were barely old enough to tie your own shoes.”</p><p>Jesus’ head dropped onto his shoulder. “You’re probably right.”</p><p>“Besides, you don’t know when to stop. You’re so spent that you can’t even keep an argument going properly.”</p><p>“Mmm. Do you really miss us fighting so much?”</p><p>Judas kissed him. “Terribly.”</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0016"><h2>16. Exit Heaven</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Satan considers conceding defeat as the number of unwanted casualties rise and the New Kingdom cult exerts its deadly influence. Simon makes a gamble in hopes of negotiating a truce. A group of renegade angels move against Heaven and invite the wrath of those who remain faithful to God. A grocery shopping trip ends in disaster.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p>
<p>In the summer of 1969, the murders of the Manson cult introduced the terror of organised ritual killing in the same year a nondescript man named Anton LaVey published the so-called Satanic Bible (which Satan himself had nothing to do with) that made only the smallest of ripples at first, but eventually became an influential factor in the rise of Satanism: a concept of human invention that resulted in retaliation from the worst zealots the God-fearing communities had to offer. It did not take long for the sensational appeal of the bloody and blasphemous, of demonic possession and sacrificial acts, to make their way to the big screen – and for the fears they mirrored to seep into pervasive popular consciousness.</p>
<p>Over four decades later, the destructive impact of both the ritualistic murders and the witch-burning backlash that followed resurfaced from where they had lain dormant to rear its ugly face.  A face that wore a new name but bore the same spirit of tyranny and superstition, spreading through small but growing pockets all across several nations.</p>
<p>In one of these puritan towns, three quarters of the populace were gathered to witness the stoning of a tall, rangy woman with a mass of dark hair and hypnotic eyes accused of leading impressionable youths to the path of the Devil. Her wiry arms were bound to separate posts, straining her sinews as she stared with a mix of defiance and desperation at the crowd. Her declarations of innocence had been heard, and ignored. And now she would die for neither confessing nor repenting. As a near dozen men and women from this very town had before her.</p>
<p>“I ask you once again,” said the man whose bulk and acrid breath threatened to overpower her. “Do you renounce Satan?” His voice rang with the true conviction of a soldier of God.</p>
<p>Her own voice was almost calm. “Never.”</p>
<p>“Then you will suffer for all eternity.”</p>
<p>“No. <em>You </em>will.”</p>
<p>His eyes narrowed. “What did you say?”</p>
<p>The woman’s battered face turned triumphant, eyes glowing topaz. “I’ll see you in Hell.”</p>
<p>Someone in the mob screamed as her pale skin darkened to a scaly maroon striped with black. Afryal’s six arms broke free of the restraints and hovered above the mob as several members of the panicked, scattering crowd bared their demon teeth and fangs. “They are among us!” cried a stout shovel-wielding man before his own weapon was used against him, killing him with one clean blow. A few were less lucky, especially those who insisted on putting up a fight. “The Lord be with me!” screamed a girl who looked barely twenty, too young to be so twisted with love for a God who did not, in the end, save her. She swung her kitchen knife at Shryel, who made short work of her with a regretful look. Their lack of enthusiasm suggested they would rather have been on their regular errand of buying bread rolls for Satan.</p>
<p>Within a very short time, the ground was soaked in red, not a single townsperson left alive. Afryal sighed. The victory felt hollow in the wake of fading battle-lust, knowing there were children waiting in houses that their parents would not be returning to.</p>
<p>“Do we slay the young ones as well?” asked the coal-black demon beside them. Afryal shook their head. “There must be some alternative to dooming innocents,” they muttered under their breath. “Perhaps some kind of relocation…rehoming project. <em>Something.”</em></p>
<p>The demon cocked their head. “Beg your pardon?”</p>
<p>“I need to think,” Afryal replied. “Give me some time.”</p>
<p>They disappeared and rematerialized outside Satan’s chambers. The faint golden glow from within indicated he was present.</p>
<p>“Yes, Afryal?”</p>
<p>“There have been enough deaths,” declared the Head of Crisis Management. “We have slain a whole town and left every last child parentless. If there is to be more such clean sweeps, my lord, I fear we will be no better than these ‘soldiers of God’ the New Kingdom has bred.”</p>
<p>“Or, for that matter, the one they claim to serve.” Satan’s face was mournful, the surroundings walls turning a stormy mottled grey. Afryal had seen him tormented before, but never to such an extent. Despair radiated off him in waves; they felt the ground beneath them shift from the subtle yet undeniable turbulence reverberating through Hell.</p>
<p>“After everything we’ve done to try and win this battle, all we do is take as many lives as we save.”</p>
<p>“We take only those who are beyond saving.”</p>
<p>Satan shook his head, recalling the slaughter that had taken place after they saved Jesus from the pyre. “And who are we to judge? How many did we slay who could have been redeemed?”</p>
<p>“An unfortunate consequence of any war.”</p>
<p>His sigh shook the walls; Afryal felt the temperature drop. “Then perhaps it is time we ceased going to war.”</p>
<p>“You mean…”</p>
<p>“I mean give up the fight.”</p>
<p>A lesser demon would have gotten jumpy at such a statement. Afryal’s mind was already processing the numerous possible outcomes. “You know,” they said after a while, “demons can’t enter Heaven without disintegrating. The same cannot be said of angels and Hell.”</p>
<p>The archdemon never stated the obvious without presenting some kind of conclusion. And Satan knew what it was. “You are saying that there is every chance they will storm the castle, as humans like to say.”</p>
<p>“They might. If they know we are on the verge of surrender.”</p>
<p>“If you were in my place, what would be your course of action?”</p>
<p>“If I were in your place, I would renegotiate the terms of surrender.”</p>
<p>“I already know the terms. They are immovable. And I refuse to pay the price that is asked of me – of my children.”</p>
<p>Afryal said nothing. Uryalh had been right; the Lord of Hell had gone soft. But they were glad for it. It reassured them that they were on the right side. Hell took care of its own. And it did not demand blind subservience in return.</p>
<p>“Oh, and one more thing.”</p>
<p>“Yes, my lord?”</p>
<p>“Mkkall has gone dark.” Going dark was the general term used for any entity of Hell who was unreachable and unaccounted for. “Send me any news you receive of my general immediately.”</p>
<p><em>Very worrying indeed,</em> thought Afryal. Out loud, they only said: “I’ll do my best.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>~</p>
<p> </p>
<p>In a liminal dimension that constituted the ephemeral border between Heaven and earth, two warlords faced each other, neither willing to fully reveal their hand or the next step in their game. “I tire of your wavering, General,” said Khamuel. “Such indecision hardly befits the most powerful of the archdemons.”</p>
<p>“If you insist on mistaking indecision for patience, seraph, that may well prove to be your fatal flaw.”</p>
<p>“You reneged on our deal the last time. Pray you do not make the same error twice.”</p>
<p>“There was no deal. I gave no answer. I cannot break a promise I never made.”</p>
<p>“And yet, General, I am under the impression that you are already considering it. The conclusion could hardly be clearer if you signed our contract in blood.”</p>
<p>The carnelian eyes turned to glowing embers. “Do not attempt to trick me, Khamuel. There is no contract, and never will be.”</p>
<p>“So you are determined to be a slave to your master and his brats.”</p>
<p>“My loyalty is, and ever will be, to Hell itself. And what I determine is best for its survival.”</p>
<p>“Well, then. Consider this. The survival and might of your realm depends on maintaining the great balance that is about to be thrown terribly off-kilter. Had the Antichrist and his target destroyed one another – cancelling out each other’s growing power – that would have been ideal for both of us. As it is, God’s plan to weaken your reign and Satan’s subsequent retaliations only bring us closer to a brutal conflict neither of us want. I suggest you do what is right by Hell and slay the spawn of Satan – with his head as proof – or else deliver him unto me.”</p>
<p>“Why don’t you come get him yourself?” called an obnoxious voice.</p>
<p>Mkkall betrayed no emotion, but it was clear they were impressed. “How did you locate this place?”</p>
<p>“It does not matter.” Khamuel extended two of their four arms and in the space of a breath wove an intricate cage-like barrier around Simon, who did not appear in the least intimidated. “Have you anything to say, or were you labouring under the illusion that you could best an angel of rank?”</p>
<p>“I come with a proposal. My surrender for a truce. The end of God’s war.”</p>
<p>“Charming.” Smug triumph radiated from the seraph. “Whatever made you think you were worth that much?”</p>
<p>“Oh, I know my worth. I’m guessing God plans to use me as some kind of bargaining chip. Sure, he wanted to kill me at first. But you, Khamuel, must realise I’m worth more alive.” Simon’s statement flattered the angel’s ambitions, to be sure. But he knew his words were also weighted by truth.</p>
<p>Mkkall stared at him wordlessly. The intensity of those glowing red eyes brimmed with things unsaid; what those things were, Simon could not be sure. He did not know if he faced the steadfast archdemon who remained loyal to his father, or a deceiving double agent.</p>
<p>He wasn’t sure he<em> wanted</em> to know.</p>
<p>“I do hate to cut this enjoyable rendezvous short,” said Khamuel to Mkkall. “But I must report this interesting turn of affairs at once. In the meantime, the Antichrist will be well secured.” The heat of their impending victory swelled. “As earthly citizens like to say: it was a pleasure to do business with you.”</p>
<p>They fastened their grip on the glowing cage holding their valuable bounty, and disappeared with the sound of burning silk. Just before Simon disappeared with them, he and the Archdemon General exchanged one last look, and the latter felt the full weight of the gamble they had taken. Whose side the odds were on, only time would tell…and the unfolding of the events both of them had set in place.</p>
<p> </p>
<p><br/>~</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Some called it the Day of the Deserter. It was known also as The Great Exit, The Flight of Judas, and That Time The Lover of the Son Of God Kicked His Way Out Of Heaven And Told The High Judges To Stick Their Swords Into Unmentionable Places. Most of the higher angels refused to speak of it; to breathe the merest mention in their presence invited a scathing reprimand. To discuss it at any length invited painful punishment.</p>
<p>While it was possible for angels to access the telepathic network of messages flowing from one mind to another, many had also developed the ability to shield their transmissions to a degree. Thought-speak interwoven with a susurrus of vague imagery and misleading phrases was how the less deferential denizens, especially among the lower rungs of the hierarchy, managed to conspire. What began as murmurs and growing interest in the idea of an ‘alternative career path’ blossomed into a flame steadily fed by undercurrents of dissent millennia in the making. In the words of Victor Hugo, “One can resist the invasion of armies, but not the invasion of ideas.” And what had begun as seeds in the wind had finally begun to germinate, to spread its roots, to push its virgin buds from the hard soil.</p>
<p>
  <em>It is hard to believe he walks the earth as we speak. Truly, he has defied both death and God.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Unthinkable!</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>But clearly not undoable.</em>
</p>
<p>Among these renegade angels, the immortal lovers had taken on something of a mythical quality: both had defied the most powerful forces in all the realms and lived. Surely their might must be beyond imagining, even if they lived as fleshly beings who breathed and bled as humans did. With such growing curiosity surrounding the two men, more than a few angels were guilty of observing them keenly when they were together, even if these watchers respected the boundaries of their domicile. Still, small clusters of dissidents in human disguises were not immune to spying on the couple while they were making out on the bonnet of Judas’ car one breezy late evening, or arguing in the aisle of a supermarket about the right kind of rice for the paella Jesus was planning to cook.</p>
<p>“You’ve been through twenty different rices across three stores. Just pick one.”</p>
<p>“It won’t be paella without the correct rice! I might as well cook something entirely different.”</p>
<p>“It won’t be <em>entirely</em> – you know what, why don’t we do that? Fuck the paella.”</p>
<p>Jesus’ deep sigh was the kind suited to crises more severe than a that of a Spanish seafood dish. “I already have all the ingredients. Except for – ”</p>
<p>“<em>Don’t</em> start with the saffron again. I told you to use a damned pre-mix.”</p>
<p>“It’s not the same and you know it!”</p>
<p>“I <em>wouldn’t </em>know it. I’m not a freaking paella connoisseur, and neither are you, so stop acting like one.” Judas’ aggravated statement ended in a sharper tone than he had intended. He knew he was about to pay for it. He saw the signs of a coming silent storm in the tightening of Jesus’ mouth, the subtle tensing of his shoulders.</p>
<p>Before things could progress any further, they were interrupted by the realization that a trio of oddly dressed old ladies were staring at them. Judas shot them a glare.</p>
<p>“What are you looking at?”</p>
<p>“Well…at you, I suppose.” The pink-clad lady who gave the strangely literal answer was nudged by her taller companion. “That was not an actual question, Jophiel.”</p>
<p>“Then why did he ask it?”</p>
<p>The third woman, a short plump personage dressed in an ill-fitting green dress, pushed forward and declared with a wide smile: “You are Judas Iscariot.”</p>
<p>“…No. I’m not.” The strange, naked feeling of a stranger knowing his name made him tense instinctively, a protective hand on Jesus’ arm.</p>
<p>“Yes, you are. Your reputation precedes you. Your name is known all through –” Another not-so-subtle elbowing cut her off. “You are both incompetent fools,” hissed the one doing all the nudging. To the couple, she smiled sweetly and said: “We do apologize for the intrusion. We mean no harm.”</p>
<p>“Yes, you do.” Jesus had gone slightly pale, drawing closer to Judas while pulling him back. “Did God send you? Or Michael?”</p>
<p>The tall one rolled her eyes at her friends. “Oh, for goodness' sake. You’ve given away our identity.”</p>
<p>“You gave it a while ago,” Jesus interjected. “I’ve been around enough angels since birth.”</p>
<p><em>“Angels?” </em>Judas shifted into full-on offensive mode. He gripped the bag of rice he had been holding like a weapon as sparks flew off his fingers.</p>
<p>The three women-shaped beings held out their hands in a gesture of peace. “I promise, we are merely observers!” One of them had a pair of blinking pupils in each palm. “You creatures and your goddamn eyes,” Judas growled.</p>
<p>“What did I tell you about those?” hissed the tall one. “Oh, yes. Apologies.” The eyes blinked once more and disappeared into the fleshy surface.</p>
<p>The green-clad woman said to Jesus: “Michael no longer wields the command they used to. And we are not on God’s side. Not any longer.”</p>
<p>“Watch how you speak!” cautioned Jophiel, the lady in pink. “He can hear these things.”</p>
<p>“What do you mean, not on God’s…” Jesus stepped forward even as Judas tried to hold him back. “Are you renegade angels, like Gabriel was?”</p>
<p>They fell silent and thoughtful at the question. “<em>Are</em> we…renegades?” Lady In Green asked her companions, saying the last word in a hushed voice.</p>
<p>“And how do you know my name?” asked Judas.</p>
<p>“Oh, nearly every angel came to know of you after you exited Heaven of your own will,” said Tall Woman. “It is known as the Day of The Deserter.”</p>
<p>“I heard he was expelled, actually,” Jophiel countered. “But his misbehaviour that resulted in said expulsion was deliberate,” their compatriot added.</p>
<p>“And I thought my boyfriend was the famous one,” Judas muttered. “What do you want with us, then?”</p>
<p>“Oh. Well. We thought that perhaps the two of you would be keen to…”</p>
<p>“That is, if you are not otherwise preoccupied with the bidding of the Lord of Hell…”</p>
<p>“…to lead the Insurgence.”</p>
<p>“Insurgence of what?”</p>
<p>“Of those against the tyranny of Heaven.” Lady In Green beamed widely, or tried to; she seemed to be just getting the hang of facial tics, and only half her mouth stretched out. Jesus noticed she hadn’t blinked for the length of the entire strange conversation.</p>
<p>There was a faint echo down the aisle, like the shockwave from a distant earthquake. “Did you feel that?” Jesus asked. Judas nodded. Another stronger tremor followed the first, then a third. The couple clung to each other, trying to catch their balance. All around them they heard a rise of panicked murmurs and cries as customers dropped their shopping and ran for the exit.</p>
<p>A thunderous crack shook the entire building as the ceiling split open with an explosion of concrete and steel, obliterating the shelves on either side of them. A flying beam missed Judas’ head by a mere inch. His heart stopped for two seconds, during which he faintly registered an agonised wail that sounded like the tearing of a metal sheet. One of the angels was falling apart like a marble statue hit by a sledgehammer, the face no longer that of a middle-aged lady but gleaming, radiant, beautiful in an unnatural way – until it shifted into a distorted broken-mirror version of itself. Then the hard marble became as dust and ash, all the light dissipating until only grey was left before the angel crumbled into nothingness.</p>
<p>The one wielding the sledgehammer – or rather, a giant flaming sword – drove the blade through the second angel, who had made the mistake of trying to beg the towering four-limbed creature for mercy. Judas heard Jesus biting back a cry next to him. They tried to crawl away, but were trapped beneath a mountain of rubble. “I can’t move my leg,” Judas grunted. <em>I can’t bloody</em> feel<em> my leg, </em>he didn’t add.<em> For all I know, I might have to lose it.</em> “Any give on your side?”</p>
<p>“No. I tried.” Jesus was gasping with pain now that the shock of the explosion was fading. “I think my arm is broken. Or part of it.”</p>
<p>The sword-wielding giant turned all its eyes on them, including the ones embedded in its glowing wings. <em>It’s coming for us next,</em> Judas thought. <em>We’re fucking done for. Not sure if Satan can save us a second time – </em></p>
<p>And then the rubble lifted as Jophiel, the remaining angel, swept the couple into their arms and flew upward through the great jagged hole in the ceiling as the seraph below roared in rage.</p>
<p>“Fear not,” the angel was saying as they searched for a safe and secluded place to land, settling on a small stretch of park sheltered by clusters of shady trees. “The seraph was after me, not either of you. Stay clear of them and you will be safe.”</p>
<p>The full impact of their injuries hit them as soon as they were laid on solid ground. Judas didn’t know which was worse: the fire of agony shooting up the left leg he could suddenly feel again, forcing a guttural scream through his teeth, or the sight of its mangled bloody state. He saw glimpses of bone and felt the world threaten to go black.</p>
<p>But then the pain was flowing away – as if being drawn out by some unseen force. He blinked as his vision came back into focus and his eyes fell upon the ruin of flesh and sinew that was weaving itself back together at a dizzying speed. Jesus’ hand was on his calf, a soft warmth radiating from the fingers that did not leave until the skin was completely mended. Only the torn and bloodstained fabric of his jeans indicated there had ever been any injury.</p>
<p>“Well, that’s…something,” he murmured, at a loss for words. His relief and gratitude turned to worry when he saw that Jesus himself was still hurt and cradling his right arm to his chest, his face tight with pain. “Can’t you heal yourself?”</p>
<p>“Apparently not.” He tried to twist his trembling lips into a smile. “I’m glad you’re alright, at least.”</p>
<p>“Here…let me.” Jophiel – in the guise of a pink-clad woman once more – placed their hand on the injured arm. Jesus exhaled with relief as the jagged wounds closed and the splintered bone beneath was whole once more. “Thank you.”</p>
<p>“You are more than welcome. I apologize that our punishment caused you pain.” The cherub’s sorrow intensified, pouring off them in waves.</p>
<p>“Punishment?”</p>
<p>“For daring to speak blasphemously against the will of our Creator.”</p>
<p>“Could have done all that without destroying half a supermarket,” Judas commented, earning him an elbow from his boyfriend. “Their friends just died,” Jesus hissed. “So did a bunch of people in that damn supermarket,” Judas shot back.</p>
<p>“Judas is right – the destruction is regrettable. But it was also intentional.” Jophiel’s face was grave, the four eyes in their forehead dark with portents of doom. “Such a visible show of force can only mean a declaration of war.”</p>
<p>“And there’s nothing we can do to prevent it?” asked Jesus.</p>
<p>“I do not know. But I expect that with enough…renegade angels on the side of Hell, we might stand a chance.” Jophiel fixed a hopeful gaze on the couple. “And with you to lead us, I imagine our chances will only increase.”</p>
<p>“Seriously – you expect us to lead some divine uprising? We can’t even agree on ingredients for a paella.”</p>
<p>“I am most curious as to this pa…this creation you have spent much time and labour on. Can I be of assistance, perhaps?”</p>
<p>“I don’t know,” said Judas, rolling his eyes in Jesus’ direction. “Can you get us some arborio rice?”</p>
<p>Before the cherub could answer, the sky above parted and a great fiery blade fell from the blinding rip in the clouds. Jophiel narrowly avoided the sword that would have killed them, instead of merely severing one of their wing tips. “I beg your pardon,” they gasped, “but I must flee. We will speak again soon – I hope.” With the sound of soft billowing silk, they disappeared.</p>
<p>The seraph who had been hunting the three renegades and failed to slay the third landed in front of the lovers, looking down upon them with such loathing it made their flesh crawl. Judas felt the skin on his arms and shoulders sizzle with the electric sensation he had last felt when Simon drew out his newfound ability. He reached for Jesus, reluctant to touch him at first, but found that the repelling burn had no effect on the latter. They clung tightly to each other in the face of the wrathful angel.</p>
<p>“Faithless scum,” they hissed. “You are fortunate that I am under no directive to destroy you. But you will both pay for your sins at the End of Days.”</p>
<p>“Bite me,” Judas replied.</p>
<p>They bared their teeth, or what passed for such in a seraph burning with righteous rage. Harder than diamonds, bright as the sun, and leaving them briefly blinded before the light abruptly faded in the wake of their departure.</p>
<p>Judas felt high with defiance until he felt Jesus shaking in his arms, face buried in his chest. “Hey. It’s alright. That asshole is gone. It can’t hurt us.”</p>
<p>“I know.”</p>
<p>“Then why are you shaking?”</p>
<p>“I-I don’t know.” Except perhaps he did know, and Judas guessed that his own suspicions were not far off. Fire had that effect on him sometimes. Flames in the hands of murderous angels: the embodiment of a nightmare Jesus had lived through twice. Judas would die rather than let him live it a third time. He kissed Jesus’ forehead and stroked his hair until the stiff shoulders relaxed and he felt the other's arms wind around his waist to close the small gaps between them.</p>
<p>“That was our most disastrous shopping trip yet,” Jesus said with a shaky laugh. Judas grinned. “At least it didn’t end in a fight this time.”</p>
<p>“Mmm.” There was a growing warmth between them Judas took for the result of their closeness until Jesus drew back with a frown, his hand reaching for the bullet charm he wore close to his chest at all times.</p>
<p>He looked up with troubled eyes. “I think Simon might be in trouble.”</p>
<p>“Call him.” Jesus’s fingers were already hitting his phone screen, speed dialling the number of a line that did not technically exist. The beeping of the dial tone went on, and on, and on. “I need to go to him,” Jesus said, his voice tight with worry.</p>
<p>Judas didn’t realise how tightly he was gripping the steering wheel until his fingers began to cramp and he loosened his hold with a wince. Beside him was the constant tapping of Jesus’ fingers sending message after pointless message to his sibling and receiving nothing in return. They spent much of the journey in anxious silence as he sped all the way to Simon’s house, dreading what they might find there – if they found anything at all.</p>
<p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0017"><h2>17. Stalemate</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Satan and Mary play chess and eat cookies as he makes an offer of immortality. A high-stakes negotiation turns sour.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>Simon’s house, much like his phone line and social media accounts, was – at least in the eyes of the law and surrounding community – more of a concept than a tangible object. It existed in a separate dimension, its front visible only to those who already knew it was there. But to the two men walking past the unlocked gates (that only existed because Simon enjoyed experimenting with various ludicrous designs no architect would dream of), the house was very visible indeed thanks to its blindingly purple door that swung open to deeply uncharacteristic silence.</p><p>Jesus knew on an objective level that his stepbrother was the one person he should be least worried about in almost any given situation. The trouble was that Simon <em>knew</em> he was unkillable, which only made him more prone to throwing himself in harm’s way. Surely it was only a matter of time before he finally discovered what his limits were. Jesus fervently hoped that today was not that day. He could not bear the thought of something terrible happening to Simon – the brother he had never had, and never thought he would come to need and love.</p><p>When they entered the living room, he gasped and froze as Judas cursed loudly. The still figure sprawled awkwardly on the sofa was eerily convincing. “It’s not him,” Jesus stated after two awful seconds in which his worst fears had made themselves known. “It doesn’t…feel right.”</p><p>“Feels creepy as fuck, is what.”</p><p>Judas was not wrong; merely looking at it too long sent a chill down his spine. He reached out to touch the shoulder, only for his fingers to slip right through.</p><p>“What is it, a hologram?” asked Judas.</p><p>“Kind of.” Jesus noticed the phone lying beside the illusory Simon-figure – the piece of demon-forged technology that allowed Simon to make calls and access the internet despite not having a registered number. When he picked it up, it glowed at his touch and the screen lit up to show Simon’s recorded video message.</p><p><em>“Greetings and salutations! I modified this to activate only in the hands of four people. Dad, if it’s you, </em>please<em> don’t ground me.”</em></p><p>“Grounding him is the least of what Satan should do,” muttered Judas. Jesus was inclined to agree.</p><p>
  <em>“If luck is on my side, I should be talking to my mom, my brother, or his charming boyfriend. Sorry about the fake body; I was afraid you wouldn’t spot the phone. Had to get your attention somehow. Anyhow, if you’re seeing this, Do Not Panic. I’m safe and very confident of being kept alive. And yes, I have a plan – ”</em>
</p><p> </p><p>At around the same time Simon’s message was being received, Satan was playing chess with the mother of his children accompanied by a plate of cinnamon biscuits. “Have you given it sufficient thought?” he asked as he bit into his fifth biscuit, or possibly seventh. They<em> were</em> incredibly delicious. “You seem a good candidate for immortality. Most humans I meet aren’t, even if they insist otherwise.”</p><p>“You’re only saying that because you’re afraid to parent the boys on your own.” Mary smiled. “There’s plenty of time to learn.”</p><p>“I <em>am</em> learning. Just not fast enough, I fear.</p><p>“I’ll teach you as much as I can.”</p><p>He sighed. “Is it <em>normal</em> to fear for your children so much? Not just in the present situation, obviously, but even when things are…well, fine.”</p><p>She arched an eyebrow. “With Simon as your son? I’m surprised you haven’t gotten used to fear.”</p><p>“For the sake of my sanity, I have given up trying to keep an eye on what he gets up to.” He captured one of her pawns with a knight. “At least his heart is in the right place. I know he does no harm to anyone without good reason. Well, perhaps to the occasional building. Usually when there is no one inside it.”</p><p>Her face grew pensive as she moved a rook forward. “I suppose I was lucky. I never had to worry about my boy. I knew that in almost any situation, he would end up doing the right thing.” It was her turn to sigh. “You’d think that a kid guided by angels would have had an easier childhood.”</p><p>“He would have, if those angels had not been tasked with unwittingly raising a lamb for slaughter.”</p><p>Her fingers curled into fists at the thought until he laid a hand on hers. “What’s done is done. He has all of Hell behind him now. And he is under my protection for as long as it stands.”</p><p>She nodded. “Thank you. We owe you so much.”</p><p>“You owe me nothing. I have done my fair share of wrongs against the world. This time, I know I’m doing something right.”</p><p>He pushed the plate with its one lone biscuit towards her. “Don’t let me rob you of the last one.”</p><p>“No, go ahead,” she said. She did not have to tell him twice.</p><p>“They really are remarkable. And I thought your chocolate ones were the height of what biscuits could be.”</p><p>“Jesus made these.” Her voice was full of pride.</p><p>“Hmm. You truly <em>are</em> lucky.” He slid a bishop into place, already knowing a win was imminent, but enjoying the process nonetheless. “Are you sure you wish to turn down the one gift only God or myself can offer?”</p><p>“I am. Plus, if I do end up in Heaven, I get to give God a piece of my mind. Most likely in words that will get me kicked out. Which works fine for me.”</p><p>He smiled. “Not even the love of your children will make you reconsider?”</p><p>“I think they’ll be fine. They’re still so strong after everything they’ve been through. Not that I don’t worry every other day, of course.” She looked both wistful and amused. “So much of being a parent is trusting your children not to kill themselves. And it never gets easier.”</p><p>“You really are a most unusual human.”</p><p>“I’m just another human who knows what it’s like to love their offspring.”</p><p>He toppled her king, scoring the fourth checkmate since they had started playing. “Well, at the very least, you play a mean game.”</p><p>“I’ve yet to win a single one.”</p><p>“To be fair, I’ve had centuries to study the masters.” He waved his hand and the pieces picked themselves up, sliding back to their starting position. “Hell could use a new Lord of the Hounds, you know.”</p><p>“Is that… Are you trying a different angle?”</p><p>“Is it working?”</p><p>“Hmph. You have me intrigued, in the very least. What <em>is</em> a lord of hounds?”</p><p>“The entity – usually a demon – in charge of raising and training Hell’s canines.” He nodded to Bunny, who was curled up and snoozing at Mary’s feet. “Few humans could manage a creature like that; you seem to have a gift for it.” In hopes that she was warming to the idea, he added: “Most of our pups are more congenial than her. All they need is a bit of discipline. They’d take to you like a duck to water.”</p><p>“I’m flattered. But I’d also like to know what I’m in for. What happened to your previous trainer? Did they lose too many limbs or something?”</p><p>He waved a hand. “Limbs grow back. One’s sanity is a bit harder to recover. Our last Lord of Hounds found they no longer had the fortitude needed to wrangle a litter of unruly beasts. When I expressed my displeasure at their rather sudden resignation, and refused to let them retire, they abruptly disappeared. Gave up the perks of demonic existence for an earthbound life. I believe they are currently the owner of a tea shop in Turkmenistan.”</p><p>“Hmm. Any other required qualifications I should know about? Brute strength, perhaps? Assuming hellhounds are not all chihuahua-sized.” She looked down at Bunny, who was now pawing her leg and demanding a biscuit – or more likely a whole jar of them. “You’ve had your two meals,” she said firmly. “Down, girl.” Bunny whined softly but obeyed.</p><p>“They do reach great heights, but they need someone with authority rather than force. As a matter of fact, physical force is a last resort, and the mark of a poor trainer if used often.”</p><p>Before Satan could go into further detail regarding the job requirements, there was a frantic ringing of the doorbell. Mary opened the door and knew immediately from her son’s pale, anxious face that something very bad had happened. Behind him, Judas announced: “You will not believe what the little shit has done."</p><p> </p><p>~</p><p> </p><p>The most frustrating thing about his cage, Simon decided, was its magic-proof properties. He would have liked nothing better than to conjure small pellets or pebbles and shoot them at various parts of his jailers to see how long it took for them to snap. They were, after all, under explicit orders not to maim or torture him. The torture was to be saved for whatever lay ahead. Whatever information they wished to extract from him.</p><p>Simon guessed they would be disappointed though. He had nothing more to tell anyone. This was it: this was his endgame, even if he acted otherwise. If having Satan’s most dangerous creature safely locked up did not persuade God and his angels to withdraw, few things between Heaven and Hell would.</p><p>He had taken a gamble. Now all he could do was wait.</p><p>As it was, nothing at the present moment was more torturous than the sheer <em>boredom</em> of being imprisoned. He had discovered within seconds of being locked in that all four walls – made of some glowing ethereal substance – burned him upon contact. He had spent a good hour or so testing just how deep the burn went; he found that he could, with some finesse, turn the flesh of his forearm into something with the look and consistency of a medium-rare steak. (He hadn’t quite gotten to the point of tasting his own flesh, although the notion was becoming more tempting by the minute.) The degrees of pain distracted him from the numerous anxieties nibbling away at the corners of his mind.</p><p>The cherub and archangel guarding him were new, having replaced the previous ophanim on duty. He used to find ophan angels fascinating to look at, but found that even a flying wheel of fire ringed with eyes could be exceedingly dull company when it provided neither conversation nor facial expressions. At least a cherub provided some form of potential entertainment.</p><p>“Where’s my boba tea?” he asked when they first turned up. The archangel nearly made the mistake of asking what a boba tea was before their colleague shot them a warning look.</p><p>“Didn’t get the memo, did you?” he continued. “Khamuel said there’d be trouble if their orders were disobeyed. And they specifically mentioned all angels on guard are to supply the prisoner with a steady supply of boba tea. With brown sugar. And extra tapioca pearls.”</p><p>He sounded so convincing that the archangel shot him the sort of disbelieving look that said: <em>You’re full of shit, but you very nearly had me.</em> The cherub would have rolled their eyes if rolling one’s eyes was a thing angels did.</p><p>“You need to feed me, you know,” he went on. “I have a very high metabolism that requires large amounts of fuel. If I were to keel over and die, your boss wouldn’t like that, would they?”</p><p>The two angels exchanged a brief glance that Simon’s preternaturally quick eyes caught. “Ahh. That’s something the last two guards didn’t tell you, then? You know, they could well be part of the big rebellion I heard is going on. Angels betraying each other. Even turning against God himself.”</p><p>“You have been misinformed,” the cherub hissed. “Whatever you have heard are wild rumours, likely spread by your affiliates from Hell.”</p><p>“Actually, I heard it from one of yours.”</p><p>They rose to twice their height, glaring him down. “Who, exactly?”</p><p>“Oh, no, I don’t believe in tattling. Not unless I have reason to.”</p><p>“You can choose to talk. Or we can make you.”</p><p>“Really? You have the authority to torture information out of me?”</p><p>The angel looked decidedly pissed at their bluff being called. They fixed their relentless, piercing stare at him, but soon found out that Simon was the champion of staring contests. “Do you need any assistance –” asked their partner.</p><p>“NO.”</p><p>“Perhaps we should summon Khamuel and –”</p><p>“And be reprimanded for a seeming lack of competence? Perhaps <em>you </em>would like to do the summoning, and the explaining.”</p><p>“No…you are right, of course.” The archangel visibly shrunk at the thought of what God’s right-hand angel would do to them.</p><p>The angel who had stared down Simon decided that there was room for compromise. “If we procure your sustenance of choice,” they said, “you <em>will</em> volunteer whatever information we demand.” They raised a hand and the glowing walls of the cage began to close in until they were uncomfortably close, stopping short of sizzling the hairs on Simon’s skin. “Or we <em>will</em> make you regret your reticence.”</p><p>“Ouch. That’s a real game-changer. Kind of unfair, but it’s a deal.”</p><p>The walls drew back, albeit leaving noticeably less room than they previous had. “You are in no position to negotiate.”</p><p>As they turned to leave, Simon yelled after them: “Remember, brown sugar and extra pearls, or the deal is off!”</p><p> </p><p>~</p><p> </p><p>Angels, thought Satan, were the most contradictory creatures (he should know, having been one). Even the ones most skilled at secrecy and manipulation couldn’t help being incredibly transparent. The tension between Heaven’s current and former Warlord was palpable – not surprising, considering both their ambitions and determination to be their Lord’s most favoured – as they stood opposing himself and Mary. Bringing up her rear was her son and his lover, their fingers having intertwined without them realising it.</p><p>“I see you have been restored to God’s good graces,” Satan said to Michael in greeting. The cherub merely nodded, gracious but holding themself stiffly.</p><p>“So, Samael. You are ready to concede defeat?” Khamuel’s words emerged more as a statement than a question.</p><p>“Firstly, you will accord me respect by not addressing me with a long-dead name.” Satan did not sound angered, his voice cool despite the anxiety humming through his veins. “Secondly, my surrender is conditional. Return the son of mine you have taken, and leave both my children in peace for all time. In return, never again shall I wage war on God’s will. Hell shall mind its own and retaliate only if attacked.”</p><p>But God, it seemed, drove a tougher bargain than Satan could agree to. Signalling surrender in return for his captive son was not enough, nor was withdrawing all attacks on the New Kingdom cults and their dangerously fanatical offshoots. It was God’s wish that Satan return to the fold – giving up his reign and joining the most hallowed ranks of Heaven, albeit with less power than what he once wielded as the most radiant of God’s angels.</p><p>“And what of the sinners unfit for Heaven? Who shall guard the domain of the unworthy?”</p><p>The smugness radiating from the seraph intensified as a familiar personage materialised. “As it so happens, an heir to your throne awaits.”</p><p>With a crackling sound, Hell’s own General appeared by Khamuel’s side. If Satan was in any way devastated by the betrayal, he did not show it.</p><p>“Mkkall. How long has it been since your loyalty was bought?”</p><p>The archdemon’s carnelian eyes were unreadable, as they so often were. “My loyalty remains with Hell, as it ever has. I will ensure its survival at all costs.”</p><p>“At all costs.” Satan’s voice was grave. “As if we have not paid enough in lives already.”</p><p>“Your sentiment makes you weak,” said Khamuel. “You labour beneath the illusion that you are worthy of commanding your own armies.”</p><p>“And you labour beneath the rule of a tyrannical overlord who will not see reason.”</p><p>At these words Michael bristled, yet Satan could not help but note the odd flicker in their eyes – a flicker that spoke of conflict, of doubt, even. “Speak ill of our Maker again, and you will have cause to regret it,” they said.</p><p><em>And yet you lack conviction</em>, thought Satan. Khamuel’s glacial voice cut through the tension in the air. “God has made His terms clear. Fulfil them, or accept the consequences.”</p><p>“Do not underestimate me, angel,” he hissed in reply. “I am more powerful than you and the highest armies of Heaven. I am the most ancient being you have faced aside from your beloved Creator. And the only one among the fallen capable of killing my once-brethren. I have stayed my hand only because I do not wish to invite more tragedy and needless death than we have left in our wake.”</p><p>The two powerful beings faced each other as the ground between them slowly rose to the temperature of a furnace from the sheer potency of their might. Just as the tension was becoming unbearable, Mary stepped forward, one hand on Satan’s arm in a show of solidarity. “With all respect, I believe our terms are fair,” she said. “Surely we can both concede –”</p><p>Khamuel accorded her but the briefest ice-cold glance. “You will speak when you are spoken to, mortal.”</p><p>“Don’t you speak to my mother that way.” Jesus reared forward indignantly even as Mary held him back. Michael turned a fiery glare on him. “The same goes for you, faithless betrayer! You who spat in the face of God’s love twice!”</p><p>“He does not truly love me,” Jesus said as his eyes went from Judas to his mother and stepfather. “But <em>they</em> do. And it is enough.”</p><p>The seraph beheld them with contempt. “When justice is served and you are made to pay for your sins, pray that their love is enough to save you.”</p><p>The endless galaxies of their eyes turned back to Satan. “We tire of these endless negotiations. If you refuse to back down, we have no choice but to take the life of the son you had hoped to save.”</p><p>At their gesture, a glowing cube appeared beside them, within which Simon was encased. He looked up midway through slurping the last of his milk tea. “Oh. Hey, Dad. Please don’t kill me.” He waved with a small sheepish smile.</p><p>“Charming that you still care for your creator’s approval.” One of Khamuel’s four hands hovered over the cage, which started shrinking until the walls were close enough to burn. “Oh come on. Not this shit again,” Simon complained. Then the glowing walls grew fiery spikes that stabbed into him from all sides. Mkkall winced, but made no move to stop the torture. Simon tried and failed to bite back his groans of pain as Satan’s roar shook the ground and Jesus and Mary cried out for Khamuel to stop.</p><p>“Surrender, Satan, or the life of your unholy spawn is forfeit.”</p><p>Satan went rigid from head to toe, the ground beneath him sizzling and freezing by turns. “Very well! I surrender.”.</p><p>Khamuel held out a knife. The blade was so sharp and fine that its edges disappeared into nothing, glowing softly along with its handle. “Seal your vow, then. In the old ways of the covenant.”</p><p>“Release my son from your cage, and I shall.” Satan held the blade against his palm, ready to slice into it.</p><p>“Seal your vow. Or nothing happens but his death.” The spikes drove a little deeper into Simon as Mary stifled another cry. Beside her, Judas threw his arms around Jesus to stop the latter from hurling himself forward to save his brother. “Take me instead,” he was pleading. “Don’t hurt him.”</p><p>Satan’s eyes grew dark, as did the sky above him. “Curse you for drawing me into your games,” he growled – not so much at Khamuel, but at God himself. “If your servant has no intent of making good on their word, then neither will I.” He reached out towards Michael as silver whip-like tendrils shot from his hand to encircle the cherub, who bared their teeth in fury and then in pain. “It <em>burns</em>,” they howled when the tendrils began to tighten around them. “Lord, save me!”</p><p>When no answer came, they looked to Khamuel, who stood impassively over them. Perhaps the seraph merely did not wish to betray signs of weakness, to let Satan think he had won. Perhaps they truly were indifferent…or worse, triumphed in seeing their rival defeated.</p><p>“Khamuel, help me,” Michael begged. “Khamuel, I am on your side!”</p><p>“Are you?” The glowing marble-smooth face held no expression. “Then why does our Lord not save you Himself?”</p><p><em>“Release my son,”</em> said Satan, his voice growing thunderous. “God, I call upon you! Will you let one of your own suffer??” <em>Do you suppose I enjoy inflicting pain the way you do?</em></p><p>Michael wept as Satan’s bonds continued to sear their flesh even as they healed and burned again in a cycle of torment. “My God, please! Do not abandon me, your most faithful, I beg of you!”</p><p>The air began to crackle as the tightening net of silver fire caused the angel to slowly disintegrate<em>, </em>their golden wings stating to blacken and crumble. “Do not make me do this!” Satan roared. “Enough with hiding behind your underlings. Face me yourself, great Creator!”</p><p>There was a massive stirring in the air; not just a wind, but as if the very molecules of the surrounding walls were thrumming. Each of them felt a tremor run through them on a cellular level. Mary’s eyes were wide, as were Judas’. Neither of them had been in the presence of God; but neither of them trembled at it despite their faces tightening with fear – and more than a little anger.</p><p>MY FALLEN CHILD. DO YOU DENY ME STILL?</p><p>“I do not deny your authority, God. You have your jurisdiction, as I do mine.”</p><p>COME BACK INTO THE FOLD. COME BACK TO ME. AND YOU SHALL HAVE EVERYTHING YOU ASK. THIS I DO PROMISE YOU.</p><p>“Return my child to me and I shall consider.”</p><p>As the barest compromise, the spikes withdrew from Simon’s flesh and bone, but remained pointed at him – ready to pierce again should any of his defenders make a wrong move. He knelt in a panting, shuddering heap, devoid of all his bravado.</p><p>HE SURRENDERED OF HIS OWN WILL TO END YOUR WAR.</p><p>Satan restrained his ire with some effort. “It was never truly mine. I only partook in what you started. And I would like nothing better than to see it end.”</p><p>YOUR PRIDE AND WILFULLNESS WILL COST YOU EVERYTHING, MY CHILD.</p><p>A great wind sliced a path past Satan and Mary like an invisible knife. A knife headed straight for the two lovers still locked in each other’s arms. A cloud of dust and debris enveloped them. Judas was roaring in rage, in loss. When the dust settled, his arms were empty; Jesus was gone.</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Sorry for ending on cliffhanger again but<br/>uh<br/>Not really<br/>(Don't worry I have a plan)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0018"><h2>18. In the House of Communion</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Blood, fire and drama</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p>
<p>He landed and stumbled on a set of stairs, feeling as disoriented as the first time he had teleported with Simon from the depths of Hell. The hard stone scraping his palms as he landed on his hands and knees jarred him back to reality. He looked up to where the long stretch of broad steps ended in a door of a towering building, and realised where he was. Where God had sent him to.</p>
<p>The grand cathedral was the largest stronghold of the New Kingdom, where a great gathering of cult leaders and high-ranking members from across nations gathered every three years. Perhaps it was no coincidence that this final life-or-death negotiation had taken place on such a day.</p>
<p>As he was rising to his feet, a deep voice called out harshly: “It is him, the betrayer! The one who abandoned his Father!”</p>
<p>Jesus turned to see a hooded man with outstretched hand pointing an accusing finger at him. Behind him was a cluster of about ten men and women. All were similarly clad in blue-black hoods that rose into peaks, shading most of their eyes so he could see only their lower faces, twisted in the throes of fanatical devotion to their God – and of vengeance upon His deserters.</p>
<p>They spread out and began closing in so that there was only one place left for him to run: right into the heart of their nest. He sprinted up the stone steps, feeling their hateful cries at his back, the fearsome utterances that promised to rain God’s wrath onto his flesh and bone and tear him limb from limb for his rejection of Heaven. A clawing hand brushed his shoulder, just an inch short of grasping and pulling him into their ravenous clutches. He slipped through the great doors just in time and threw all his might into pushing them close. They swung shut, but not quite all the way, stopped by a pair of hands that were joined by more reinforcements, a small swarm of bodies pushing against him like an inexorable tide.</p>
<p>Defeated by their collective strength, he fell back onto his elbows as the Kingdom devotees gathered and flocked forward, their dark hoods blocking out the last of the evening light. Just as they were about to visit their vengeance upon him, an authoritative voice rang through the air, echoing off the vast vaulted ceiling.</p>
<p>“Halt! The first to harm him will be punished severely.”</p>
<p>Jesus looked up at his saviour to see a familiar figure, clad in a deep indigo trimmed and embroidered with gold. She had been the right-hand woman of Michael – known in his human guise as Marcel – the founder and then leader of the New Kingdom. The man who had first called accusingly to Jesus bowed deeply to her commanding figure. “Great Leader. We were only meting out fitting judgment upon this deserter.”</p>
<p>“It is not your place to judge. If God has not yet seen fit to punish His own son, what right have you to do so?”</p>
<p>“You are right, and most wise as always. Forgive us.” He clasped his hands and bowed again.</p>
<p>“You are forgiven. Go and be with God.” She made the gesture familiar among Kingdom members: touching her forehead (representing God’s all-seeing eye), her chest, then extending the same hand to the devotees. They returned the gesture before moving as a flock to join the gathering taking place in the inner chamber. The woman turned to Jesus, her face full of compassion.</p>
<p>“We were never properly introduced. My name is Ruth,” she said as he rose shakily to his feet. “You are here by the grace of God Himself.”</p>
<p>“How would you know?”</p>
<p>“I was sent a divine vision telling me to expect your arrival.”</p>
<p>“You knew it before I did, then. Not that he ever tells me these things.”</p>
<p>“The Lord has plans for all of us, child. We need only trust in His love. Is it not proof of His greatness, that he continues to embrace you despite your continued denial of Him?”</p>
<p>He looked all around at the magnificent surroundings where stone and concrete was turned into impossibly ethereal fluting that crept towards the lofty gothic-style ceiling. High on the walls, circular mosaic windows let in rays of light that cast a celestial glow onto all it touched. Statues of many-winged seraphim made of marble and gold stretched their arms towards this artful imitation of Heaven’s glory.</p>
<p>“It is beautiful, no?” Her gentle smile was at odds with the hand encircling his arm, gripping like an iron band. “Come with me. There are those who have been waiting to meet you for years.”</p>
<p>Trying to pull away was futile. Not only was she as tall as him and terrifyingly strong, she also had the advantage of the invisible helpers gripping his shoulders and forearms, immobilising him the moment he tried to resist. He heard the whisper of wings – the angelic voices he had once welcomed as a child, that now took on a sibilant, sinister quality. The angels were driving him forward, pushing him further into Ruth’s snare and into the web spun by the great spider-like force that was the New Kingdom.</p>
<p>The long corridor led to another pair of doors that she pushed open to reveal an even grander chamber. Cult members rose to their feet and murmured prayerfully. Many were dressed in the blue-black hoods and robes he had seen earlier; a few at the fore wore the same garb, but in white and gold. The walls surrounding them were heavily adorned with intricate gold scrollwork and gleaming mosaics; the floor was plushly carpeted. If the outer corridor had been designed to evoke a spiritual state of mind, this inner sanctum was quite the opposite in its lavish display of wealth. The sculpted angels were baroque in their fleshiness, with heavy brows and bulbous eyes that stared fiercely down at those who had sinned. They did not intimidate him; he had plenty enough to fear from the real ones at his back.</p>
<p>The members were gathered in a semi-circular formation around a raised platform backed by two tall candelabra, black candles dripping wax onto exquisitely wrought holders. Only before stepping onto this platform did Ruth let go of his arm, her fingers leaving red marks on his skin. He felt the weight of the angels’ grip leave his shoulders.</p>
<p>“My children,” she addressed them all, palms extended. “This is no ordinary gathering. For it takes place on a day of Reckoning.”</p>
<p>An excited murmur ran through all but a few of the white-robed members, who were clearly in the cult’s upper echelon. They were silent and still in anticipation of what was to come</p>
<p>“Our Lord God has spoken!” The light of zealotry filled her eyes, infecting those around her. “He has commanded that we partake in a special communion. And for that purpose, He has sent unto us his very own son!” She fixed her beatific gaze on Jesus, holding out her arms like a mother wishing to embrace her child. When he instinctively retreated, he found his back hitting two tall, broad-shouldered adherents who took hold of his and pushed him toward her. He lost his balance and fell to his knees right as he saw the gleam of something silver in her hand. The knife moved in a graceful arc, its curved blade so sharp he barely felt it slice into his skin. He realised he was wounded only when she took his arm and raised it for all to see, displaying the deep crimson line that gave forth fine rivulets. “The blood of the Christ!” she declared, her voice a clarion call in the large chamber. “Drink from him and live forever!”</p>
<p>She raised her own red-stained fingers and licked it off, savouring the taste of his blood. The white-robed members stepped forward, standing to attention, awaiting her command. Ruth lifted her knife with its beautiful ornate handle into the air and spoke:</p>
<p>“Let the communion begin!”</p>
<p>The hooded acolytes closed in like a terrifying, suffocating swarm. He saw that some of the white-robed ones wielded knives of their own. In desperation, he grabbed the only form of defence he could find: one of the candelabra framing Ruth’s imposing figure. The mob halted in their onslaught, forced to back away from the flames he shoved into their faces, swinging his wrought iron weapon in a wide circle. “Stay back!” he shouted with more bravado than he felt. “Don’t touch me!”</p>
<p>Ruth alone did not seem to fear him. Her voice remained calm as she attempted to placate him, to take the candelabrum from him. He tightened his fingers around its hard, reassuring metal. “Do not fight the inevitable, Christ-child,” she said in soothing tones. Her continued use of the address suggested she occupied some eerie reality where he had died on the cross and given his life willingly to a hungry crowd. And now expected him to do the same, again, to this ravenous hooded mob. “There is no death for you. Only the embrace of your Father…”</p>
<p>“He is <em>not </em>my father. Not anymore.”</p>
<p>“He is the Father of all. Each and every earthly creature. But you are his most beloved among us.” She continued moving towards him, heedless of the flickering fire. “I see the weariness in your eyes. I saw it on the night you were to be offered to our Lord on the blessed pyre. You tire of running. I know you do.”</p>
<p>She was not wrong. If not for the knowledge of her blade – and of the others waiting to slice into him, to feed on him in some grotesque ritual feast – a small, exhausted part of him would have liked to surrender and let them take him. To fall into her arms, to rest in her lap. To close his eyes and lie down forever….</p>
<p><em>No!</em> Those were not his thoughts, surely. He did not fear death. But he would not die like this; not in this house of parasites, of twisted hooded eyeless faces, this temple of blindness and slaughter. Ruth made an attempt to lunge at him, and he shoved the candles into the folds of her robes. The lustrous material burst into flame immediately; then she was screaming, flailing, her calm authority melting away. She spat curses at him with raw fury in between her howls of pain. Two, three more acolytes suffered her fate, including one who tried to save her and was similarly immolated. The man who had led the attack on him outside the building flew at him in a rabid rage. Without thinking, Jesus swung the other end of the candelabrum right into his face, breaking his cheekbone with a snap. He fell where he stood, eyes rolling back in his head.</p>
<p>Breathless, taken aback by his own actions, Jesus’ eyes swung up to the heavy curtains framing a stretch of wall adorned with a large frieze. A mad idea took hold of him. He moved the candles across the thick fabric and watched them go up in flames with a savage satisfaction that was entirely new to him.</p>
<p>Someone screamed in warning just before the curtains caught fire; but the warning came too late. The orange-yellow tongues lapped gleefully at the velvet and shot up with terrifying speed to the entire stretch of fabric overhanging the walls, and any nearby flammable material they could devour. Jesus pushed the other candelabrum to the floor and savoured how the wicks of the fallen candles immediately fed on the thick carpet. Those nearest to the suddenly scorching ground felt the fire spread up from their feet and howled, enveloped in the burning shroud of their own robes.</p>
<p>As he ran towards the exit, the alarmed and scattered devotees no longer bent on attacking him, a hand reached out to grab his ankle. He stumbled and fell as a guttural cackle accompanied the grip on his foot. It was Ruth, her scalded face half eaten away by flame. “Perish with us,” she croaked. “Our suffering ends at the gates of Heaven, but yours has only begun – ”</p>
<p>He pulled his foot free and kicked at her head. His boot landed on her neck instead, and he heard the bone snap as the light in her eyes went out. The sound of it sent a chill up his spine.<em> I killed her. I killed a person.</em> The shock of it made him numb until a tongue of flame threatened to climb onto his shirt and he forced himself back to his feet.</p>
<p>The mass of Kingdom devotees, no longer a threatening mob but a panicked swarm, cried out and ran for the doors – which a sudden wind slammed shut in their faces. They threw themselves against the solid wood to no avail. All around them the flames grew steadily, the heat now suffocating. Jesus’ heart was pounding wildly. He should be breathless with fear. But fear did not come for him, though he waited for the chill of its touch. His veins were full of madness and triumph even as he faced the same death as the trapped, screaming cult members. He had done more than take a life. He had committed mass murder: the writhing, burning bodies succumbing to a painful end was his doing. The realisation shook him so that he did not feel the deadly heat closing in until a soft cool wind ruffled his hair.</p>
<p>Then a pair of unseen limbs and the beating of wings were lifting him above the inferno. “I was the one to close the doors,” said a gleeful voice he thought sounded familiar. “Jophiel?”</p>
<p>“It is I, indeed! I have been sent for you.” As the cherub transported him from the furnace-like chamber, he heard the triumphant voices of other renegade angels all flocking around him, their cool ethereal bodies soothing against his own flushed skin.</p>
<p>They re-emerged outside the cathedral as the small band of rebels who had rescued him made themselves visible. His heart lifted at a familiar presence among them. “Gabriel!” He threw his arms around the fallen angel. “What are you doing here?”</p>
<p>“I was the one who led them to you.” Despite being outshone by the other angels, Gabriel’s face was radiant in its own right. “I couldn’t be with the rest when they went in – I’ve long been unable to teleport – but there are still a few things I can do that humans can’t.”</p>
<p>The growing, pulsating warmth at his chest told Jesus his brother was looking for him. “Simon…he’s been freed.” Had the negotiations been successful, then? He pulled the bullet charm from inside his shirt and gripped it in his palm. Sure enough, there was a loud crackling in the air as Simon appeared and immediately threw himself at Jesus, who was only too glad for the python-like hug. Behind him, Satan, Mary and Judas materialised. Jesus felt his chest tighten with overwhelming emotion.</p>
<p>“Are you alright?” he managed to choke out. “You were in pain the last time I – ”</p>
<p>“Shut the fuck up.” Simon tightened his hug even further before letting go. “Are <em>you</em> alright?”</p>
<p>“I’m fine.” OF all the times he hadn’t meant those words, he did this time. “I killed their leader,” he added in a rush. He didn’t know if he felt triumph or dread, or a confusing mix of both. He knew it would be a long time before he forgot the snap of bone against his boot heel.</p>
<p>“About time.”</p>
<p>Jesus managed a shaky smile. The remnants of adrenaline leaving his veins left his hands cold. Then Judas was at his side, and he leaned gladly into his beloved’s embrace, warmth flooding back into him.</p>
<p>It didn’t take long for the rest to notice that the windows of the cathedral were alight. “Who started the fire?” asked Simon, clearly wishing it had been him.</p>
<p>“I did.”</p>
<p>At Simon’s incredulous look, Jophiel piped up: “It is true! We bore witness to it. A most fearsome and magnificent sight it was!” The angel transmitted what they had seen to Simon, Mary and Judas. Jesus caught strains of their telepathic message, and was rather taken aback at the vision of himself standing amidst the writhing figures ensconced in flame, wielding the candle-holder like a battle axe. He would have suspected Jophiel of dramatization had he not known that angels were physically incapable of lying, only of cloaking their intents.</p>
<p>Simon landed a playful punch in his forearm. “You can’t just decide to be a fucking badass behind my back, you know.”</p>
<p>“I didn’t exactly plan on it.” He looked from Simon to Satan and his mother. “What exactly happened after I… Did we win?”</p>
<p>Satan sighed. “I wish we had. Shortly after you were separated from us, God released Simon – but not his hold on me, and by extension my realm.” His eyes darkened, as did the air around him. “He means to bring his war to Hell itself. And I must be ready when it comes.”</p>
<p>Simon laid a firm hand on his father’s arm. “You have me.”</p>
<p>“And me.” Jesus stepped forward, as did Judas, their hands in each other’s as always.</p>
<p>“And Bunny.” Mary smiled. “And of course, your new Lord of the Hounds.”</p>
<p>The dark cloud around Satan lifted. “You accept the job?”</p>
<p>“I do.”</p>
<p>“You do realise it means you have to…”</p>
<p>“I know.” Her eyes were steely. “I’m ready.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>~</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Somewhere at the edge of a dusty ghost town that time seemed to have forgotten, a ragged figure with torn and tarnished wings wandered aimlessly along its deserted roads. From their mouth spilled the broken wail of a discordant violin, sharp and twisted and tormented.</p>
<p>
  <em>“My God. Why have you forsaken me?” Have I not proven myself worthy time and time again?</em>
</p>
<p>The lines that Satan’s assault had cut into their ethereal flesh were slow to heal. Not that they cared any longer. The pain of such injuries was nothing in comparison to the torment that came with knowing that their divine Father had seen fit to discard them once they had outlived their use. Or perhaps they had been just another piece in the great Game destined to be sacrificed ion the name of Heaven’s victory.</p>
<p>If that was indeed their purpose, Michael knew they should accept it with grace. But how could they accept an existence severed from the love and light of their Maker, and of everything they had ever known and loved?</p>
<p>“Why do you abandon me and yet let me live?” they wept. “If I am no longer of use to you, why do you not end my existence?” The multiple eyes on their drooping wings had begun to flicker out, going dull and lifeless.</p>
<p>Futile cries, useless prayers. The moment they had felt God turn from them, a terrible rage had filled them, followed suddenly by crushing dread and defeat. They knew not who the rage had been directed at: Satan, perhaps; Khamuel, for usurping their place as one of God’s beloved; Jesus, the faithless son who would spite his Father’s endless forgiveness. And – just perhaps – some of that anger was for the One who had led them to believe His love was unconditional and unending.</p>
<p>Full to sorrow as never before, Michael wandered on until a passer-by on a large loud motorbike paused at the road side, its rider drawn to the curious ragged figure. “Hey, man. You alright?”</p>
<p>Michael turned to face the man – who promptly drew back with an exclamation of shock, nearly falling off his bike. The angel’s features were inhumanly twisted with agony, and stared blankly at him from empty, ragged sockets where they had torn their eyes out in a fit of madness.</p>
<p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0019"><h2>19. Battle of the Betrayers</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Satan gains a new Lord of the Hounds. The war comes to Hell's gates. Events take an unexpected turn.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>There were any number of ways to leave the mortal coil enjoyably, but only a few that would guarantee your body was left intact. In the end, Mary chose the comparatively dull route of several more milligrams of morphine than was generally recommended for pain relief. The one tasked with bringing her back to life was by her side, as was her son. With her hand in his, she felt his pulse race with anxiety as she slipped away, even after repeated assurances that she would be fine.</p><p>“I cannot grant immortality at will,” Satan had told her before. “Only those whose souls pass into my realm – and even then, not always. There are souls who reject their bodies, or whose bodies reject them. These are mysteries unknown to me even after countless eons. And I don’t exactly make a habit of offering eternal life to people. That is God’s promise to make. One that he breaks often enough.”</p><p>“And how do I find my way back to you?”</p><p>“That is the gamble. There is no fool-proof guarantee. But,” he added, “I can do what has proven successful before – the one and only time I attempted it – and hope that the result will not vary.” His face was grave. “You’re sure you are willing to take the risk?”</p><p>“I would die fighting for a world in which my sons can be safe.” She placed a firm hand on his. “Let me be a part of this. Whether we win or lose, I cannot do any less.”</p><p>He nodded, and told her to choose her death.</p><p>She did not remember when the last breath left her lungs, or the exact moment her heart stopped. When her consciousness next returned, she was standing in a formless, liminal dimension of shifting light and shadow. If her ethereal form had a beating heart, it would have pounded at the rush of uncertainty – the gaping void of possibility that anything could happen, here in the great unknown where she was untethered to her body, standing at a crossroads that might pull her in any direction.</p><p>Then the voices came for her: a tangle of melodic strains and sibilant invitations, beckoning and welcoming. She did not know if she should trust them. There was a growing light, soft at first, then intensifying to the point of blinding her. A massive doorway was opening. She heard the beating of wings, but also the metallic clamour of what sounded like weapons, like a great machine readying itself for battle.</p><p><em>Maryam Imran, </em>called the chorus of voices. <em>You are early.</em></p><p>“Am I?” she replied tentatively. “Depends on who’s expecting me, I suppose.”</p><p><em>You have been deemed worthy. Take your place in the light eternal. </em>There were hands emerging from the blinding glow, reaching out toward her. Just before the first of them could touch her, she heard a familiar voice calling out: “Stay away from her!”</p><p>She turned to see her adopted son. “What’s happening? Are things going according to plan?”</p><p>“More or less. Here – take my hand.”</p><p>Mary looked from Simon to the light, the cacophony of radiant voices mixed with the clang of weaponry. “What <em>is </em>that?”’</p><p>“Some place you don’t want to be.”</p><p>“Is that…Heaven?”</p><p>“Yes. And if we don’t go now, it might claim you for good. As it nearly did Jesus.”</p><p>That was all the persuasion she needed. Like her son before her, Mary took Simon’s hand and felt the world twist as she was swallowed by darkness.</p><p>They rematerialized in a vast cavernous space with amorphous walls made of some odd, shifting substance that made her think of the vastness of space trapped within smooth gleaming stone. The effect was both eerie and beautiful. “So this is Hell?”</p><p>“The entrance of it. Sometimes it differs according to your state of mind.”</p><p>She was so entranced by her surroundings that it took a few seconds for her gaze to settle on Satan, who stood before her in his full, twelve-foot-tall form. “So that’s what you really look like,” she remarked. The skin that had the appearance and hardness of polished basalt looked magnificent at such a scale, like a volcanic boulder come to life. His hair kept shifting in hue, from deep sea-green to a gold so dark as to be almost black, swirling about him as if he stood underwater.</p><p>“Are you disappointed?”</p><p>“Quite the opposite.”</p><p>He smiled. “Follow me.” She found her feet did not quite fall on the ground as she trailed him, her soles touching but not tethered to the surface, and hooked her arm through Simon’s for some assurance of gravity.</p><p>“Did you remake yourself when you were cast out of Heaven?” she asked as they moved toward the darkness.</p><p>“Indeed. I wished little resemblance to my former self. No angel now can do what I can, however. I belong to a more powerful race; one no longer in existence.”</p><p>“What happened to them?”</p><p>“They were extinguished – down to the last. I did not know of this until a long time after my banishment, of course. But I heard, or rather felt, the cries and confusion of my brethren when it happened. I guessed then that something terrible had happened to them.”</p><p>“God killed them all?”</p><p>“To prevent another such as me from rising. Yes.” Satan turned to Simon. ‘I believe Vlondr has something that you may find useful in battle.”</p><p>Simon grinned broadly. Vlondr, Hell’s Master Smith, had hinted some days ago that Simon’s father might have a gift for him. “Is it a flaming sword?”</p><p>“Go and find out.”</p><p>Waving off his son, Satan led Mary into one of Hell’s countless dimensions. The gaping, dark nothingness before them opened up to a cavernous space full of a dim pulsating warmth. The curving walls looked oddly flesh-like and gave her the very strange feeling of being in a giant womb. She heard the baying of hounds and the whines of what sounded like very huge puppies.</p><p>They rounded a corner and Mary found herself staring in wordless awe at a creature massive beyond imagination: a mountain of a dog beholding her and Satan with benign eyes that were at odds with the huge fangs its open mouth revealed as it barked in greeting.</p><p>“Meet Leia, one of our newest mothers.”</p><p>“Leia, as in Star Wars?”</p><p>Satan nodded. “Uryalh named her. I believe they are quite a fan of the movies.”</p><p>Leia yawned, baring the full length of her impressive incisors, before sniffing at her litter of five pups, each already half of Satan’s own height. “Did Bunny come from a litter just like this one?”</p><p>“Quite likely. There are specific elements and incantations that a hellhound answers to. The spell Simon inadvertently invoked opened a portal to this very dimension, and Bunny just happened to be the first to respond.”</p><p>They drew near to the litter; Leia was on guard, but calm and at ease. Three out of the five massive puppies yapped eagerly at Mary’s outstretched hands, while the other two gazed at her with keen eyes and tails that wagged slowly at first, then faster as they seemed to recognise their next new master. One of them leapt right at her, a large paw passing through her incorporeal form. “Down!” she said firmly, without thinking. She repeated the command, and the pup immediately backed down, fixing its jet-black eyes on her.</p><p>“A good sign. They did not reject you.” Satan surveyed the various litters and the motley assemblage of canines in various stages of maturity. “I will bring you here again once I’ve restored you to your body. You’ll need to get to know some of the full-grown hounds – the ones we will ride into battle.”</p><p>“When does it begin, exactly?”</p><p>“I cannot say. Perhaps tomorrow. Or in a matter of days. I will know when they are coming – and perhaps, so will your son, who has been touched by angels since birth.” His tone was grim, but his aura radiated a sense of calm. “It is almost a relief,” he confessed. “I am tired of the countless centuries of waiting. Of being ready.” He smiled dryly. “The End of Days as prophesied by raving humans is a myth; at least, for their fellow earthly inhabitants. But for Heaven and Hell, our End is a very real possibility indeed.”</p><p> </p><p>~</p><p> </p><p>They had been ensconced in the safety of Hell’s most well-guarded domains for three days (Simon bouncing restlessly off the walls, flickering in and out of different chambers) when it began. Jesus and Judas had been asleep in each other’s arms when the former was roused by the strains of a battle cry he knew only he and a few others could hear. He rose and woke Judas with two words: “They’re coming.”</p><p>As a war horn sounded and the clarion call of the high angels clamoured all through Heaven, Satan and his archdemons coordinated the armies of Hell, stationing a few smaller troops at the numerous entrances unknown to all but a few. “Remember, they have an insider in their midst,” he said, referring to his defector General. “They’d be fools not to use Mkkall’s knowledge to their advantage.”</p><p>Jrbral, Afryal and Uryalh each stood over their designated army. Jrbral would lead the soldiers attacking from front and centre, the other two armies attacking from the sides. This was their territory, and their intimate knowledge of its many nooks and shifting doorways were to their advantage. Their disadvantage was the inability to actually slay an angel. But they were prepared to inflict as much damage as they could.</p><p>Among the demon armies were strategically placed pockets of renegade angels: the only ones who, along with Satan, <em>were </em>capable of killing angelic beings save for the most powerful of seraphim. Gabriel and a team of messengers would relay information all along the ranks. Gabriel’s first words to them all flowed through the telepathic network presently: <em>“They’re at the entrance. Release the arrows.”</em></p><p>A slew of barbed projectiles, hexed to disintegrate and burn its target from the inside, flew out of the walls to skewer the first wave of angels. They hissed and fell in droves, but the gaping wounds did not still them for long. As soon as their wounds began to heal, they charged once more.</p><p>But the arrows were only the beginning. Next came the huge blades from the side walls, dismembering angels left and right. Simon had helped rig the snares, and had put his experience with video games to good use in setting up a whole gauntlet of booby traps. By the time God’s army had breached the gates of Hell, their numbers had nearly halved.</p><p>And yet the ones who were left were nothing if not vicious and well-trained. Seraphim armed with flaming swords slaying demons left and right, Dominions moving in formations of seven to seventy, weaponised from all sides, and fiery ophanim turning their wheel-like forms into devastating machines that sliced and seared and maimed. Hell’s own gave back as good as it got, Satan himself appearing right in the heat of battle to mercilessly slaughter angels as he had refrained from doing so for most of his existence, going head to head with the most powerful of high angels. “Come forth and face me!” he roared to Khamuel, who remained at a distance with war horn in one hand and their sword in the other. As the latter blew their horn, the triumphant sound was suddenly drowned by a great wailing and the indescribable sound of a great multitude angels perishing painfully. Satan received Gabriel’s frantic telepathic message of a Heavenly horde numbering in the thousands trapped within Hell’s secret passageways, twisting in the flames cast by their renegade kin. Trapped and burning with nowhere to go as they perished in the same divine fire they would have used as a weapon.</p><p>“But how did the rebels know to attack those tunnels…?” Satan shot back telepathically. In response, he received a glorious vision of the general who had supposedly betrayed him. Mkkall, the sly double agent, had been playing on Hell’s side all along while allowing Khamuel (and indeed, everyone else) to believe otherwise.</p><p><em>Mkkall led them to the tunnels, and led the rebel angels to them! </em>Gabriel relayed elatedly. Then Satan ceased to hear their words as his faithful archdemon appeared before him, carnelian eyes unfathomable as always.</p><p>“I apologize for allowing you to think I had betrayed you,” they said, bowing their head.</p><p>Satan clasped their hand in gratitude. “Don’t apologise. You made the sacrifice of playing the villain. Luckily, you do not have to die as one.” Scores of demons were gathering around their war chieftain, radiating admiration and glee. Mkkall turned around and led them on into the fight as their howls and war cries echoed through the passageways.</p><p>Simon passed by Mkkall and gave a jubilant whoop to see the General leading his father’s armies once more. He was a near-unstoppable force himself, gleefully swinging the curved blade of his fiery sword forced by Hell's master smith Vlondr (who was also busy slaying angels left and right, clad in impenetrable armour). The weapon was made of very different substances from the ones wielded by the seraphim, but bore the same force and caused significant damage as it seared off wings and limbs that took longer to regenerate than they would otherwise.</p><p>As Jrbral summoned another demon army from above, heavily spiked and armoured creatures dropping in to tear into wings and eyes, Mary’s voice echoed through the battlefield as she rode atop a massive queen hound, Jesus atop a full-sized Bunny by her side. Both mother and son were armed with a pair of light yet superbly strong shortswords forged by Hell’s own smiths, capable of piercing angel-flesh the way no earthly weapon could. “Hecate, Misto, to me!” she called. “Leia and Targa, from the sides!” The hounds tore into the angels with glee, their massive jaws lopping off heads and limbs. A large ophan came flying towards Jesus; Bunny caught it mid-air by its wings and tore them off with glee while Jesus put out as many of its eyes as he could. A towering angel with bared teeth came at him with flaming sword – he recognised it as the same who had slain Jophiel’s companions. The one he now thought of as the Supermarket Seraph.</p><p>He parried their blow with his own blades, but his strength was no match for its divine might. Just as the searing sword was about to slice into him, someone attacked the angel from behind, knocking the sword from their hand. Judas’ eyes glowed electric-blue as he wrestled with the angel, the electric force enveloping his entire body burning into their skin and making them hiss with pain. With his own weapon – an extendable lance with a jagged point – he took out their eyes, leaving them blinded and unaware of the hound just behind them until they were summarily dismembered by its wicked teeth.</p><p>“You’re hurt,” said Jesus.</p><p>Judas looked at the heavily bleeding wound on his shoulder. “I’ll suffer worse before this is over.”</p><p>“Shut up and stay still for a second.” Jesus pressed his hand to the cut until the skin sealed. They leaned in for a brief kiss, hoping it would not be their last, and then leapt back into the melee.</p><p>As the battleground grew bloodier and left ever greater heights of devastation with each mass slaughter, Satan – himself covered in countless healing wounds – came face to face with Khamuel, who towered as tall as him and blazed with the fury of a hundred suns. Satan dodged the blow of their massive sword and in the same move snatched the war horn from their hand. He blew on it, sending a deep bellow through the walls that was quite a different sound from Khamuel’s melodic battle cry. Satan’s trumpeting was an unmistakable call to God himself.</p><p>“I am ready to meet my Maker!” he bellowed. “Come and face me, my Lord! Finish what you should have done when you first cast me out!”</p><p>The very foundations of Hell began to quake. Many an angel and demon lost their bearings briefly, faltering and pausing in the midst of attack.</p><p>ASK, AND YOU SHALL RECEIVE.</p><p>Sections of the ground and surrounding walls crumbled and melted and reformed into a vaguely humanoid shape, twice as tall as Satan. A single burning, all-seeing eye in its forehead circled continuously in its socket. Like a huge fiery diamond, its faceted rays cast a halo all around its gargantuan form.</p><p>MY BELOVED MORNING STAR. THIS IS YOUR FINAL CHANCE TO SURRENDER. BEFORE ALL THAT YOU LOVE IS DESTROYED.</p><p>“As you can see, my once-Father, my army has taken as much of yours as it has of mine.” As a matter of fact, the tunnel ambush led by Mkkall had nearly halved the entire Heavenly army, and their soldiers now numbered significantly less than that of Hell’s own. “Will you not spare your faithful children?” Satan spread out his arms. “Let the war be between none but us two.”</p><p>AS YOU WISH, CHILD. YOUR ARROGANCE WILL BE YOUR UNDOING.</p><p>“As <em>your </em>arrogance will be yours, my Father,” a sibilant voice declared, sending a chill into all who heard it.</p><p>The God-figure turned to face his betrayer. His shocked silence was felt all throughout the realm. And then Khamuel’s sword was plunging into the massive body, taking advantage of his tethered form to inflict the sort of destruction that would never have been possible in his true all-extensive form. There was a sensation like a prolonged, soundless scream reverberating through the core of every being present.</p><p>MY OWN…MY BELOVED. HOW COULD YOU TURN ON ME?</p><p>Despite his great Eye casting itself in all directions, God had failed to see into the hearts of his own closest circle – including his warlord Khamuel, who had been gathering scores of angels around them. Angels loyal to them even above God. By the time he felt their weapons and fingers and flame pierce him, it was too late. Everyone outside of this murderous legion swarming over their Creator was stunned into stillness, the entire battleground coming to a standstill at this shocking revelation.</p><p>HOW CAN THIS BE?? came the reverberating bellow. MY MOST LOYAL OF CHILDREN…YOU WERE NOT TO DISOBEY ME –</p><p>“You never did impart express orders not to kill you,” Khamuel replied. “My mandate was to preserve the authority of Heaven, at all costs. And I <em>will </em>be a superior Ruler of Heaven: the ruler you never were.”</p><p>They hovered above the ensuing carnage, massive wings triumphantly spread out, and commandeered the splinter faction who had pledged their fealty to the new Lord of Heaven. These seraphim and Dominions – whose hivemind nature resulted in a flawlessly synchronised strike – sliced, burned and pulverised even as many among them were slayed mid-attack. The remaining angels flocked to their Maker’s rescue only to be sliced or evaporated by the wall of fiery-eyed ophanim that formed around Khamuel and the separatists. Hovering conflictedly nearby were the renegades who had waged their war against God and his faithful, but were utterly unmoored by this twist of events. Gabriel and Jophiel had their arms around each other, unsure if they should be exultant or afraid.</p><p>In the end, trapped in his corporeal form, God was no match for his own spawn. The mighty figure began to collapse and crumble in a magnificent blazing wreck until nothing was left but a widespread smattering of dust settling like embers into the ground. Not a single living being said anything for a very long while. The atmosphere was filled with an indescribable vastness stretching on for miles. Satan himself stood shell-shocked, like one who has both triumphed and been robbed of victory.</p><p>“Well, I’ll be fucked,” came Simon’s awed voice in the midst of the silence that followed the shocking annihilation. “They did it. They actually killed God.”</p><p><em>And now it is your turn. </em>Somehow or other, perhaps through the heightened strains of telepathy sizzling in the air, Simon heard Khamuel’s intent. He thought at first that it was directed at him, but when he turned to the seraph, he saw their gaze fixed on his father. And he saw also the terrifying breadth of the warlord’s limitless ambition: to be the Supreme Ruler of both Heaven and Hell, and everything in between.</p><p>They had destroyed God. And now they were coming for his father.</p><p><em>NO!</em> Without thinking twice, Simon threw himself in the path of the massive flaming sword being hurled right at Satan’s heart, deflecting it with his own. In the distance he heard several voices clamouring for him to stop. From the corner of his eye he caught Mkkall attempting to save him. It was too late; his momentary triumph, the brief burst of elation, was cut short when he felt his insides start to twist and burn and splinter into nothingness. Above him Khamuel’s face stared down, the seraph’s own hands plunging like claws into his guts and heart that soon would beat its last.</p><p>And then Satan was throwing himself at Khamuel with a sound of rage and pain. <em>“His soul is tied to his flesh,”</em> he heard someone cry – one of the archdemons, probably. <em>“Simon's body must not be destroyed –”</em></p><p><em>So this is what it feels like to die,</em> thought Simon. He felt the sudden ache of all the people and things he would miss. He felt foolish for not appreciating them more. And then all thought and sentiment dissipated like so much dust in the wind…</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>1) I said we are gonna kill God or die trying, and I wasn't lying<br/>2) Sorry for the cliffhanger, but things will work out (I promise)<br/>3) Unimportant detail, but Vlondr was named after Völundr, a legendary blacksmith from Norse mythology</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0020"><h2>20. Rebuilding Paradise</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Saving Simon, a dairy abomination, heaven on earth, and Sharknado</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The air sizzled and the walls trembled, the bloodied battleground quaking with the force of two powerful beings locked in each other’s hold: one ablaze with divine fire, one immovable as a mountain. The inferno Khamuel radiated burnt Satan’s rock-hard flesh and made it sear and slough, but no amount of pain could make him surrender. It was insignificant compared to the pain of losing the son he had never expressed love for. The son he now knew – beyond a measure of doubt – that he loved more than anything and anyone on Hell or Earth.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But if he and the rest of his own had lost hope of saving Simon, one person had not. Jesus clung on to the disintegrating remains of Simon’s body, holding it together by sheer force of will, pouring every ounce of his healing ability into keeping his sibling alive.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Let me go,</span>
  </em>
  <span> Simon mouthed, no longer able to speak.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jesus shook his head. “You saved my life twice. It’s time someone saved </span>
  <em>
    <span>you.</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Not if it costs you your own life.” Mary clasped his shoulders, pale with sorrow at the prospect of losing Simon, but unwilling to risk losing both her sons. “You can’t take this much longer. Please.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She spoke the truth; Jesus was trembling head to toe with the effort of reversing the devastating effect Khamuel’s attack, attempting to piece his stepbrother back together almost from a cellular level. He was so absorbed in the effort that his entire being was fused to Simon’s, magic and life force flowing from one to another, and neither Judas nor Mary could pry them apart without breaking their limbs.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There was a bloody roar reverberating through multiple dimensions of Hell. Despite Khamuel’s raw power, the strength of Satan’s ancient, extinct race of angels won out. With one last vicious twist, Satan ripped Khamuel’s head from their neck and then tore them limb from limb. And all that was left of the seraph’s army, and of those who had been faithful to their annihilated God, fell back in defeated shock. The severed head landed next to Bunny, who began fighting with fellow hellhound Misto for the first bite. (Mary let them have their harmless tussle; under the circumstances, she had no spirit left for exerting discipline.)</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Satan knelt over them, his sorrow so great and palpable that it weighed heavy on the hearts of all present and drew tears from their eyes. He roared in fury when he could not heal his son. Khamuel had managed to undo part of the demon-magic with which Simon had been brought to life, and now it was unravelling, slipping through his fingers despite his best efforts.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Let him go. It’s what he wants you to do.” It was Judas’ turn to try and persuade Jesus, to move him with tenderness where force had failed. But Jesus’ jaw was set stubbornly even as exhaustion ate steadily at him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I have to do this. Let me do this. It’s the least I owe him.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Mary squeezed his arm. “Baby, you’ll kill yourself.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Your mother may be right,” Satan said. “Your soul and your life force are intertwined. Lose enough of one, and you lose the other.”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You cannot restore him…?” Mary pleaded. “As you did before?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I cannot promise anything.” Satan was torn between both his children, tormented by his inability to save either. His sorrow rippled through the battlefield and ripped gashes in the walls. As with both angels and demons, he lacked the ability to cry. And it seemed his pain was all the greater for it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jesus looked up at him. “I don’t care. I can’t lose him.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And I can’t lose both of you!” Mary cried out. But the siblings had become untouchable. The enchantment binding her sons together had locked them in an invisible stronghold, the bullet Jesus wore close to his chest glowing and pulsating like a small sun. the aura around them had solidified into a force field that formed an impenetrable wall.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Judas turned to see the renegade angels hovering around them. “Do something,” he cried in fierce desperation. Jophiel led the angels in forming a circle around the two huddled figures and cast their aura of healing in hopes that it would help to save one if not both of the siblings. And then the glowing grew brighter and brighter, until it blinded all in sight before finally fading back into the radiant winged forms.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>After a moment that seemed to stretch into eternity, the angels parted to reveal Simon sitting up, whole and undamaged once more.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re alive,” Satan murmured in disbelief.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes. And he’s dying.” Simon was cradling a pale, unmoving Jesus in his arms. “He gave his life to save me,” he said numbly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No. He will live.” Jophiel laid a hand on Jesus’ chest. “I can feel him; he is safe.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Mary spilled a ragged sound of relief as Judas rushed forward to pull his beloved into his arms. He kissed the seemingly lifeless lips and tried to rub some warmth back into the stone-cold hands. All those who stood witness to the scene could not help but be touched. “If only angels and demons could love so deeply,” Jrbral observed, “we might not have had to tear Heaven down.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Destruction and creation. Two sides of the same coin.” Satan cast his gaze around at the gathered renegades as well as what remained of God’s army. Already their Heavenly light was flickering; a few of them wept, but largely they were simply lost – untethered, with the wretched air of abandoned children.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You are welcome here in my realm should you wish to make a home of it,” he told them. “I demand unconditional loyalty, but not unconditional obeisance. Or you may seek fulfilment in an earthly life, as Gabriel here has done so.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And what would you have us do, if we pledge fealty to you?” The question came from the supermarket seraph who had attacked Jophiel and their compatriots. Their righteous fire was all but extinguished. “What would our purpose be?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Whatever needs doing. With your considerable power, there are few limitations save what you yourself impose. No longer should you and your brethren be defined by hierarchy.” Satan held out his hands. “But truth be told, Hell may not need your efforts as much as the new republic your contemporaries mean to build. A new Heaven to replace the one that fell with the fall of your Creator.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A murmur rippled through the angels. Some stubbornly stood their ground, willing to perish rather than throw in their lot with Satan and his army. But far more appeared to be swayed by the possibility of an existence no longer defined by their former servitude.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gabriel spoke up. “In the new realm we will build, all are equal. Each will give what they are capable of. Forget what you knew of rank: all that is history now. We have only the future to look forward to. And every one of you, of us, will reap the fruit of what we sow. No one gets left behind.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Mkkall stood beside Gabriel, their ever-impenetrable gaze sweeping over the gathered angels. “We acknowledge and mourn the brethren you have lost,” they stated. “Grieve for them, and let this great loss be a reminder that war is seldom glorious, but always ugly. Let this be the last battle between us. From now on, we are divided no longer.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As if to emphasize the general’s words, Leia let loose a long howl that sounded both mournful and triumphant, joined by Bunny and a handful of hounds. A clarion cry heralding the end of an era and the beginning of a new one.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>~</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Voices came from far away, drifting closer and closer, formless sounds sharpening into recognisable words. Jesus’ senses were slowly returning even as an overwhelming exhaustion made it nearly impossible to move more than his fingers. He was on the sofa of his living room in what felt like an awfully familiar situation.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Simon and Judas were bickering about something a short distance away. After all they had been through, the grumpy but good-natured banter was wonderfully comforting. (The grumpy parts mainly came from Judas; with no threat at hand, Simon was in his usual impenetrable bubble of obnoxious cheer.)</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You can’t change the rules midway through the game, idiot.”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m not changing anything. It’s your fault you didn’t listen carefully when I explained them.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You did </span>
  <em>
    <span>not </span>
  </em>
  <span>mention that ladders can be made of different suits!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Pretty sure I did.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Pretty sure I should have won this game five minutes ago.” Judas threw down his remaining cards disgruntledly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You owe me a bubblegum banana freakshake.” There was the sound of Simon gathering and shuffling the deck. “Did you know a demon invented freak milkshakes? Probably just to piss off God.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>The last thing Jesus remembered was the features of Simon’s face – distorted from the spreading destruction of Khamuel’s sword – righting themselves as his flesh mended, and the eyes opening wide with disbelief. Everything had faded into black shortly after, the last of his energy spent. And then he remembered: </span>
  <em>
    <span>God is dead. My once-Father is no more.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Khamuel, too, had perished. Something he had registered but not been able to give any attention to, what will every ounce of will concentrated on holding his disintegrating sibling together. God and his most powerful angel was dead. It was a massive truth to come to terms with. And yet just now, it seemed almost inconsequential.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>All he knew was that he wanted to see the face of his brother again, obnoxious grin and all. With great effort, he lifted his eyelids and turned his head, which felt like it was made of stone.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“He’s awake!” came the triumphant proclamation. A breath after, Jesus felt Judas’ hand slip inside his and suddenly felt like crying. He was glad to be alive – or rather, glad to have something to be alive for. With the warmth of his beloved’s arms around him, and Simon’s hand squeezing his shoulder, he was suddenly overwhelmed with emotions that would have run their course had he been awake to feel them at the end of that sprawling, bloody war. He was shaken with a hurricane of feelings, but mostly with gratitude and love.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Is everyone alive?” he asked when he could speak again and he could taste the salt of his tears. “Is Mom…” He remembered her being there with him at the end, but he had to make sure.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Mom’s alright, Dad’s alright. So’s Bunny. We lost two of our hounds. Hecate and Shan.” Simon squeezed his hand. “Listen. I owe you big-time, so…just thought you should know that.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You saved my life twice. And pulled me from Heaven once. I wouldn’t be here without you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Please don’t go trying to even that score,” Judas interjected.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I won’t.” He smiled. “How long was I out this time? Feels like history repeating itself,” he said, referring to the grimoire incident responsible for the ability that had ended up saving Simon’s life.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Only about a week.” When Jesus’ eyes widened, Simon grinned wickedly. “Just kidding. About a day and a half, max. Which is a half-day less than the last time. I consider that an improvement.” He shoved a small tub of ice cream at his sibling, enchanted to stay cold and unmelting. “Here; better get some calories into you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Thanks.” Ice cream did sound wonderful. At least, until he nearly choked on a spoonful of something that could only be described as an abomination in dairy form. “What on earth is in this??” He grabbed a tissue from the nearby coffee table and spat out a small chunk of something rubbery.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, sorry – that was mine.” Simon handed him another tub, and he quickly swallowed a mouthful to get rid of the awful taste on his tongue. This version tasted, thankfully, of nothing more interesting than sweet corn.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Judas whacked Simon on the head. “Idiot. He just woke up from a coma and you’re poisoning him?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Don’t be dramatic. It’s essence of fish, not arsenic.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jesus choked again on the ice cream halfway down his throat. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“Fish?”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Halibut, to be precise. And gummy worms. It’s custom made.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Simon licked the ghastly concoction off his spoon as Judas shot him a withering glare. “Didn’t I warn you to keep your crimes against food to your own house?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“See, that’s kind of unfair. I should only be made to keep them to my own body. They’re not harming anyone.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I beg to differ,” Jesus remarked, lamenting the fact that the taste of the fish-and-gummy monstrosity was stuck in his head long after it had left his mouth.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There was a sound like the burning of dried leaves magnified fivefold as an opening unfolded from thin air and Mary stepped through, accompanied by a drift of glowing ember sparks. “Dad’s new hellhound wrangler makes her epic entrance,” Simon said with a grin. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The Lord of the Hounds threw her arms around Jesus and kissed his cheek. “How’s my baby?”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jesus had long given up getting her not to call him ‘baby’ in front of others, and hugged her tightly in return. “I’m good, thanks.” Bunny stepped through the portal in Mary’s wake, shrinking from a giant into her domestic chihuahua form before leaping into Jesus’ arms and licking his face.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Mary shook her head fondly. “I’ve managed to train her out of jumping onto people unprovoked, but it seems she’ll always make an exception for you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jesus would have made an attempt at discipline if he thought he was any good at it. Instead he indulged Bunny to her heart’s content, cradling her fat wriggling body close to his chest and cherishing the presence of his odd, wonderful family that had somehow proved stronger than any force in Heaven and Hell combined.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Is that ice cream? I could use some after a day of getting giant restless puppies to sit and stay.” She reached for the nearest tub just as all three of them reached out to stop her. “Don’t eat that one,” Jesus warned her as Judas firmly slammed a lid on it.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Why? What’s in it?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Trust me. You don’t want to know.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>- THREE YEARS LATER -</b>
</p>
<p>
  <span>In a small shop with peeling walls lined with shelves of vintage records, a sharp-boned lady with glossy dark hair placed the needle of a gramophone onto a vinyl. The brief silent hiss gave way to the warbling notes of ‘The End of The World’ by Skeeter Davis.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>
    <em>“Why does the sun go on shining?<br/>Why does the sea rush to shore?<br/>Don't they know it's the end of the world<br/>'Cause you don't love me anymore”</em>
  </span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her name was Maliya now, and she wore the body of a dead woman. The real Maliya had been the victim of a sudden, tragic end in the form of a car crash. As she lay in a pool of blood and broken glass, breathing her last, she had been visited by an odd person who claimed to be a fallen angel. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Fallen, huh? I don’t suppose you’re much good then,” she said in a cracked whisper. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I wish I could do more.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh well. More useful than a medic. I’m going to die, aren’t I?” Maliya took in their appearance with her fading vision.. “You look kind of ordinary, for an angel</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I am little more than human now. I am in search of a new life here on earth.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Huh. You can have mine if you want.” She struggled to draw air into her punctured lungs. Michael placed a hand on her chest and used what ability they had left to lessen her pain. “My father…he needs me…needs someone around. To take care of the shop. Take care of him.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Do you mind if I…” They laid tentative fingers on her forehead.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Read my mind? I suppose you’ll need to.” She gave her consent, and Michael drew her memories into their consciousness. Among the rush of images and snatches of knowledge, Michael heard the strains of a sweet, sad song.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> <em>“Why do the birds go on singing?<br/>Why do the stars glow above?<br/>Don't they know it's the end of the world?<br/>It ended when I lost your love.”</em></span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“One of my father’s favourites,” said Maliya with her dying breath. “He sings it every so often after my Maman…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And then her eyes ceased their flickering, and she went the way of her late mother. Michael could no longer manipulate matter as they could in full angel form, but they managed just enough to alter the woman’s features till the body could no longer be identified as Maliya’s. At the same time, their face and body transformed until the woman who had apparently stepped in front of a speeding car in a moment of carelessness rose and walked away from the scene, carrying the recollections she needed to adopt this new life as her own.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>As she ran her fingers through the albums, rearranging them by alphabetical order (as the old Maliya’s memories instructed), she heard the old man calling. “Yes, Baba,” she replied.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Play something more cheerful, lively. Something customers can move their feet to.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“But you love this song, Baba.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He smiled sadly. “I will play it all night long after the shop closes. For now…something with beat. Whatever you younger people are into.”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span><em>“I can’t understand</em><br/>No, I can’t understand<br/>Why life goes on the way it does…”<br/></span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Maliya felt all too keenly the sadness of the lyrics. The song was an unanswered question, and she had finally given up seeking answers. As the song stated, the tides and sunrise would carry on regardless. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She had wanted no part of this reality at first. She had longed only for oblivion. But when it had not come for her old body, there was nothing left to do but find a new purpose. One untethered to her now-dead Maker.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>God is dead.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Some days it was still hard to believe.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As she was putting on a U2 record, the bell on the shop door tinkled to announce a customer; or rather, four. Maliya turned to see a cherub she knew as Jophiel, the fallen angel and renegade hero Gabriel trailing in their wake. Accompanying them were Satan’s two adopted children.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Nice gig you got yourself here,” Simon said as he took in the pleasantly aging store, breaking the ice within the space of a breath as he was wont to do. “I’d still be tempted to beat your ass, except I’d have to do it outside.”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m glad to see my former Adversary is well.” She bowed her head, noting their varying reactions. Simon appeared to still be on edge, in contrast to the bright-eyed Jophiel who looked keen to bridge the divide between them. Gabriel radiated a reassuring calm while staying close to Jesus, who was understandably wary.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Maliya stepped forward. “I suppose apologies are in order. And whatever reparations I can offer.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“There is all the time in the world to mend what harm we’ve done,” Gabriel said in lieu of Jesus’ silence. “I myself am still making up for past wrongs I might have unknowingly committed. We are freed now from blind obedience. But with that freedom comes, I suppose, the burden of responsibility.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jophiel approached the spinning record where Bono was wailing poetic lyrics to upbeat riffs. “I have always loved these contraptions. You are fortunate to be surrounded by music, one of humanity’s finest and most mysterious inventions.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“More fortunate than I deserve. Even the form and life I now occupy was handed to me by pure circumstance.” Maliya reached out to Jesus, who reflexively pulled away before forcing himself to stop, to allow the woman who used to be Michael to touch him lightly on the shoulder. “I will not ask your forgiveness. You will give it in time, or not; it’s not something I can force.” She smiled, though her eyes remained shadowed with guilt. “I have caused you pain, repeatedly and wilfully. All in a terrible misled attempt to win the love of my Maker…who did not, in the end, grant me more than scraps of it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I guess he misled us all,” Jesus said softly after a while. “It’s been years since you…since all that happened. I’ve stopped jumping at shadows and such. I guess it’d be pointless to keep holding grudges.” A corner of his mouth turned upward. “Not to mention petty.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And yet you still won’t forgive me for placing your books face down to mark pages,” Simon remarked, somewhat ruining the poignant moment.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jesus shot him a side glare. “You could have used any of the twenty bookmarks I’ve given you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“There was no damage done!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“The spine was cracked clean in two!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I repaired it, didn’t I?”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s the </span>
  <em>
    <span>principle</span>
  </em>
  <span> of the thing. You said you wouldn’t do it again, and you did!”</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, please. This is </span>
  <em>
    <span>just </span>
  </em>
  <span>like the one time I ordered pizza with shrimp on it and you were pissy even though I removed all the shrimp from your half…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As Maliya observed the conversation with bewilderment, Jophiel and Gabriel smiled fondly. The former was reminded of their encounter with Jesus and his lover in the supermarket where they had chanced to witness a similarly trivial argument over varieties of rice. “Humans are marvellous, aren’t they?” they said with genuine enthusiasm.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gabriel nodded. “They really are.” They turned to Maliya. “You’ve adjusted well enough, have you?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I have. I wandered about blind for a good while, having torn out my eyes in madness.” Jophiel made a sound of sympathy and laid a hand on her back, where a set of wings had once been. “But I found peace after, which has always seemed…unfair. That is to say, I am not…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Not worthy?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Maliya nodded. Gabriel hugged her, and she returned it in a faltering, stiff manner. Hugging was a gesture she had yet to become familiar with. “Don’t torment yourself with such thoughts,” Gabriel said. “That way lies more madness. There is only the future to look forward to, now. We need never fear any sort of fall or punishment again.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I wonder,” Maliya said after a thoughtful silence, “if fallen beings like us have a soul. After all, we become human in nearly every other aspect.” She frowned pensively. “I wonder if there is a place for us. If and when we die.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I have the same questions,” Gabriel replied. “We’ll simply have to find out together.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And in the meantime,” Jophiel added, “we will rebuild a new Heaven on earth. One where all are welcome.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Except for sinners, I would suppose.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s Satan’s jurisdiction, not ours. Although not all sinners are beyond redemption, I might add.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You hear that?” Simon poked Jesus in the ribs. “Fish-and-gummy ice cream is a minor sin at worst. Along with not using bookmarks.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jesus rolled his eyes. “The next time Bunny tries to bite your toes off, I just might let her.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Or maybe you want to save your punishments for after I subject you – and everyone involved – to the movie I chose for movie night.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jesus blinked, nonplussed. “Simon, the last time we attempted a movie night was over two years ago.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And you thought I’d given up since then, did you?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He groaned. “I should have known better.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You should. And since no one could settle on a film, I took the liberty of making an executive decision.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What did you…no, let me guess. It’s a surprise.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Simon merely grinned as Jesus sighed.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>~</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So correct me if I’m wrong,” Satan said, attempting to understand the concept on which the film they were watching was based. “These creatures are sharks that are part tornado?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No, actually, it’s the other way round. The tornado is part shark.” Uryalh seemed to have a surprisingly solid grasp of the premise.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I assume the sharks have undergone a genetic mutation that allows them to fly,” Jrbral remarked, marvelling at the gravity-defying nature of the computer-generated great whites zooming across the screen.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Is that really your most pressing concern?” Mary dipped her hand into the bowl of salted cashews being passed around. “I stopped asking questions after the shark smuggler. Apparently there’s a market for people who need a boatful of live sharks, no questions asked."</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Americans need to stop solving all of their problems with guns,” Mkkall observed after one of the heroes attempted to shoot the flying sharks from the sky as if it was duck-hunting season. They looked even more out of place in the cosy living room than Satan (whom you could quickly get used to once he shrank himself to the size of a tall human), with their immense spiked shoulders and tendrils of flame emerging each time they opened their mouth.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Afryal tossed a cashew into the air and stuck out their long pointed tongue to catch it. Simon would stick his head up every so often to try and intercept it with his open mouth first, when he wasn’t busy keeping up a running commentary of the movie. “The lovebirds aren’t back yet, huh?” he pointed out in the midst of explaining to Satan why the heroes had decided to defeat a hurricane by blowing it up. He had noticed the missing couple some minutes ago, and realised they had gone off for something more than a toilet break.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“They must be off doing things one doesn’t feel comfortable doing in front of one’s parents.” Afryal snatched back the roasted nut Simon had managed to usurp and crunched on it with their fangs.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, they’re missing the best parts,” said Uryalh.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I doubt they’re missing anything."</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>“They’re missing the big shark tornado!” Uryalh insisted, being someone who unironically enjoyed such flicks. “We’re at the climax!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So are they, probably.” Simon grinned broadly.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>He was right about these things, as usual. Had he not been thoroughly enjoying the movie, he might even have urged the demons to eavesdrop on the sounds that were coming from the bathroom. The melodic, mounting cries no one save Judas could draw out, his mouth doing things to Jesus’ nether regions that almost made him forget his own name. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Please…don’t…” was all he could coherently say, in broken whispers dripping with need.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Judas withdrew his tongue. “Don’t? You want me to stop?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jesus whined, trembling all over. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“Nnnnnhh.”</span>
  </em>
  <span> His head fell back and his unseeing eyes rolled back as he gripped the smooth stone counter and tried to stay on his feet despite barely being able to feel his knees. When the torture finally ended with a mind-melting orgasm, it was all he could do to keep from crying out as loud as he would have were his family not present just two walls away.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>With a sly, sated smile – having brought himself to pleasure while down there – Judas rose up just in time to catch his lover who had gone pleasantly weak from the dizzying pleasure he had been subject to. They sank to the floor and leaned on the wall in a lazy heap of entwined limbs, the tiles cool against their heated skin.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
  <span>“I was wrong to object to a movie night, it seems,” Jesus gasped.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So was I. Next time I won’t bother arguing with your brother’s choices either.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They kissed ardently, the taste of sex on their tongues, the mirrors still misted from the heat of their lovemaking. As the renegade angels continued to build their new heavenly republic in place of the old regime, there were at least two people on earth who were perfectly content to find paradise in each other.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0021"><h2>21. The Bonus Chapter: Trivialities</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Nothing but bits of trivia and stuff I never got to add in or elaborate on in the story</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>A demon invented the concept of paint names, the more pretentious the better. Satan’s main chamber is usually decked in a shade called Onyx Desert, while Uryalh is partial to walls coated in Coral Mist.</p><p> </p><p>Simon prefers to use his powers for trivial things like removing unwanted toppings from his pizza than for anything actually life-changing. His reasoning is that life is no fun if it’s too easy.</p><p> </p><p>After Hell’s Master Smith Vlondr crafted Hell's first flaming sword to match its angelic counterpart, it became a favourite weapon among demons. Its design has since been refined to include adjustable flames and a retractable blade (inspired by the lightsabers in Star Wars).</p><p> </p><p>Simon’s pockets have pockets and he occasionally gets held up at security checkpoints for fun, during which he pulls out a series of increasingly bizarre objects from his clothing.</p><p> </p><p>Jesus absolutely hates it when people fold a book page to mark it. A more forgivable but still formidable sin is leaving an open book face down for any longer than ten seconds. He has a habit of including a bookmark with birthday gifts. If you happen to be a page-folder, your gifts will likely consist of nothing but bookmarks for however long it takes you to get the hint.</p><p> </p><p>It is normal for Judas and Simon to have arguments over trivial things that can last for weeks if not months. At any given time, they have a minimum of four unresolved debates going on and seem to derive a strange enjoyment from them, much to Jesus’ exasperation.</p><p> </p><p>Aside from the main demon characters in this story, there are numerous ‘lower demons’ — generally lumped under the description of imps — of varying intelligence levels. Simon successfully summoned a humanoid horned gecko whom he names Cogsworth (named after the clock in Beauty &amp; the Beast, which was also the movie chosen for the second movie night, which Jesus and Judas actually sat through.) Neither of his parents approved of Cogs until they compromised by allowing Simon to store it in a pocket dimension, able to be summoned with the right code word (‘falafel’).</p><p> </p><p>The wooden mynah still adorns the counter of the bakery, and chirps whenever a demon or angel visits, its enchantment allowing it to sense the presence of the supernatural. Jesus would later carve a companion to the bird as a gift for his mother. It was an ordinary wood sculpture until it came into contact with the enchanted mynah, which imbued it with some of the same magic.</p><p> </p><p>Satan is a collector; one of his enduring passions is human inventions that he deems highly fascinating. (His continued avid interest in such things makes him the opposite of God’s macroscopic view of Earth &amp; humanity.) These include anything from Warhol’s soup can paintings to tacky ice sculptures (spellbound to never melt) to a frankly impressive array of adult toys.</p><p> </p><p>Following the fall of Heaven, the Half-Moon Market evolved into a more carnivalesque space that admits fallen angels as well as a select few humans. It is now known as The Devil’s Playground and features, among other exciting new additions, an incredible inter-dimensional rollercoaster.</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
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